Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

How Jaskier and his neighbour became acquainted/begrudging allies had started like this:

 "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat," drawled the tousled brunette, still in a half-asleep mode, as he found himself the unwilling guardian of a box that was very decidedly not addressed to him. 

It had been bestowed upon him by a rather cranky postal service worker who had, for some reason, not been looking at him and had merely made him sign for the package without asking if it had been the correct address (which, by the way, rude, did they not teach etiquette at postal service training?) and then left unceremoniously with no response from Jaskier.

And Jaskier, fool that he was, hadn't even had a chance to look at the parcel properly before he could process everything, and thus was now holding on to a package addressed to… he squinted again at the name written on the package. God, he must have been way more tired than he would have liked to be, he was pretty sure the name wasn't spelt like that.

He wasn't even sure if he even knew who the parcel was addressed to. Old Mrs Singh, who had been rather ancient, had always lived next door and Jaskier had been the subject of much affection and hard butterscotch candies when he passed her in the hallway of their second floor. She had, however, moved back to her hometown over a month ago to be near her grandchildren, and someone new had taken over the apartment only a week ago. He had never met them. His late-night gigs and busy work week meant that socializing with neighbours and block parties were out of the question at normal human hours. 

Until today. He glanced down at the parcel he held in his hands and sighed. Well, he probably had to give it over at some point.  Might as well be right now. 

And that was how he had the opportunity to meet…  

"Jennifer?" He asked hesitantly, as a petite but very intimidating woman who had looked like she had stepped out of a commercial for hair products appeared, purple eyes (contacts maybe?), and a glare that threatened to set fire to something, probably his hair.  

When the woman at the door seemed to bristle at his appearance, he tried again, this time oozing a little more charm. He'd picked up plenty of people with his dashing good looks, charm, and glib tongue before. He could probably soothe the heck out of his scary hot neighbour. 

"Come here often?" Was what he actually said to Scary Hot Neighbour, raising a brow in what he was hoping was a rakish move. 

Her glare seemed to get worse.  

So he had chosen poorly somehow.
 

Whelp, time to get back into decent human being mode. 

"Sorry, it's just that this package came to my doorstep instead of yours, and I wanted to do the neighbourly thing and-" 

This was getting nowhere. 

"Jaskier!" He offered, throwing out a hand while balancing the package in the other. "My name. Is Jaskier. I live in apartment 7, you must be Jennifer-" 

"Yen," said the woman, grabbing the package from his hands. "Yennefer. It's on the package, read it some time."

Then she slammed the door in his face.

Rude. 

He gets a few encounters and run-ins with Yennefer here and there similar to that very first for the next few months, all from her marching to his place to complain about the noise from Jaskier practising his music when she was bloody meditating or something new age-y and shit, or the time Jaskier kept smelling burning smoke coming from the apartment that Yennefer owned, and he had gone over, politely, to ask her to stop cooking if she was going to be this terrible.

None of the encounters had managed to soften the woman's impression of him.

Not that Jaskier wanted one. Yennefer hated him. Since their first encounter, she had taken to pronouncing Jaskier with a hard J sound, her lips forming the first syllable in a precise, posh manner that showed how much derision she had for him. It was a reference to the time Jaskier had kept calling her Jennifer and Jaskier's hackles felt a little raised when he saw her, arms akimbo, purple eyes blazing (turns out they weren't contacts, he could tell because he had asked once and she had responded by slamming the door on him). 

This pattern of behaviour between neighbours would have continued if not for two things: the first being an open door, and the second being that Jaskier was, to put it very kindly, a bisexual disaster. 

Jaskier was a being that had been free with his affection. That had been rather obvious from the start. It was something he was rather upfront with most of his dates, and he fettered his feelings liberally. Whether they were requited was another mess entirely. Sometimes it didn't matter. Sometimes… well.

Sometimes it led to nights like this: Jaskier strumming his guitar, sobbing a little too loudly that he would then try to choke back because he wanted to hear the chords, then crying again because the chords sounded so sad and out of tune and why was he not a better singer was this why he didn't get enough gigs on his Patreon page why- 

His gaze happened to fall across to the mirror across the living room, where he had set up his guitar, his laptop and his pity party.

By god. He looked utterly, ridiculously devastated. 

How had he let himself get to that state? They weren't even dating that long! His eyes were red behind his thick, black-rimmed glasses, which were smudged from the tears, fingerprints and skin oil. His usually artfully tousled brown hair was greasy from lack of washing, and he had a 3-day old stubble growing in patches all over his face. He did not look in any way like himself at all.   

And that made him feel extremely angry somehow. 

He was Julian Alfred Pan...eurgh, Jaskier. He was Jaskier goddamnit. He had eyes of (blue) steel, soft hair, and on good days he had decent skin. He wasn't in terrible shape, and he was a fighter. He was not gonna let any bad dates of his get him down! 

This thought process fuelled the following shower, shave and clean up of his apartment, and two hours later, as Jaskier came back in from hauling the amount of trash he had into the downstairs garbage unit, he was feeling a lot better than he did before. He was also feeling listless, as he now had no idea what to do next.

He glanced over at his kitchenette and found the unlikeliest of things: a whole makeup bag. His most recent breakup, a woman who happened to be a Countessa who broke up with him because Jaskier was ‘boring her’ and ‘ageing like a sack of potatoes’, had left it behind in her haste to leave that morning.  He had been planning to trash the item, but his pity party meant he had more or less forgotten his usual routine.

His fingers itched.

And that was how he found himself in front of his laptop, watching a makeup tutorial to learn how to apply a smokey eye on himself, just to see if he could. Hey, he was gonna end up alone anyway, so why not learn to apply makeup and see if he could rock it?

Judging by the current mess happening around his top facial area, he was not.

 "Curse these fingers," he growled as he once again fucked up trying to add the powdery black shadow onto his eyes. "Why won't you fucking smudge the way I want-" 

More of the shadow decided to fall off his fingers and onto his cheeks instead, and rubbing them away only seemed to make the smudges worse. 

He growled in frustration, eyes threatening to tear up worse due to the shadow hurting his eyes. He wished he had his contacts with him, but he had run out and in his pity party, had forgotten to do things like PICK UP ACTUAL CONTACTS and WHY was he such a fuck up he was gonna die alone in this apartment all cried out and dehydrated like a husk because no one would ever love him-

"So-" a droll voice could be heard, and he whipped his head up quickly to see Yennefer The Bitch looking at him with the same derision and a hint of ...pity? She swanned into the room, her face an impeccable mask of a smouldering bitch in bitch's clothing. “Am I interrupting some sad, emo revival of My Chemical Romance in a …" she wrinkled her nose as she picked up the container that was holding the eyeshadow in question. 

"Good lord, do you even have good taste in black eyeshadow?" She asked. "The formula for this is terrible, and it doesn't even have good pigment."  

On any other day, Jaskier would have been strident, pulled a dramatic speech out of his repertoire of English Literature texts that he had memorised from the past, decried Yennefer the Neighbour and volleyed her with insults, demanding she leave the apartment.

Today was not that day.  

"Go on then," he said wearily, “Laugh. I'm not at my best so why not just make fun of me and my shitty life choices."

To his surprise, she didn't. As Jaskier turned a wary and confused eye at his usual ice queen of a neighbour, he realised that her purple eyes were scrutinizing him with a cool, long gaze. It was making him feel uncomfortable. And possibly scared. And a little bit aroused. He was a young man who felt a lot of things.

  She then leaned forward to raise a hand against his cheek and stroke his jawline. In most circumstances, he would have interpreted it as a sign things were about to get naughty. Instead, Jaskier felt fear. 

And a teeeeeeeeeeeeny bit of arousal. 

HE WAS ONLY HUMAN DAMNIT.

"You've done a dismal job by the way," Yennefer helpfully informs him, her fingers on his chin tilting his head left and right. 

He groans. “I know, I mean…” 

And the unthinkable happens. Yennefer pulls up a chair, takes out the makeup remover that was still in the makeup bag, douses a cotton pad with it, and proceeds to dab at his face, removing smudges of black from his cheeks. She repeats the motion a few times, a few cotton pads and the dwindling amount of liquid the only victims of her endeavours, and Jaskier does nothing but gape at the sudden kindness his neighbour is showing him. 

  "Alcohol is not a good idea for your skin, by the way-" she tells him. "After a while, your pores will get ragged and your skin will dry up like a piece of fruit. You’ll get crow’s feet faster."

Jaskier snorted. “Not my makeup, but I will take that into accordance.” He said, trying his best not to move as she was getting uncomfortably near his closed eyes and he didn’t want them to suddenly open and get impaled on her fingers. 

“Oh?” he could hear Yennefer ask. So he tells her the story of his most recent breakup with the Countessa, and to her credit, she did not judge him, only choosing to scoff when she decided to open up the makeup bag and get a peek at the products inside. She told him that the Countessa, for all her titles and her money, did not seem to have good taste in makeup, and this shocking lack of judgment meant that she wasn’t worth it as a person.

“You’re a very annoying neighbour, and I don’t appreciate the guitar twanging you do at all hours of the night,” she informed him and started tutting over something she found in the bag. “However, you are harmless, and you were kind to my grandmother-“

That was confusing, and his eyes flew open. “Say what now?”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “My grandmother? She used to own the flat next door? She helped me get this when I graduated from Aretuza?” The blank look on Jaskier’s face must have shown how confused he was because she sighed. “Mrs Singh?” She asked.

Oh, so that was what she meant. “Mrs Singh is your grandmother?” he exclaimed. “But you’re- and she’s…”

“ Yes, yes, we get it, my grandmother was nice to you-“ Yennefer sniffed, “ and I’m a hellion from hell,  and yes, I did magic my way into hitting you in the head with the book that time…”

Jaskier yelped, for good reason. He was sure he had told the Countessa exactly that once about Yennefer when they were having sex in the living room and Yennefer had started banging against the wall to shut them both up. He had rolled his eyes back then and told the Countessa that his neighbour was a “hellion from hell” then, who made potions and was a witch and probably the reason why the book hit him in the head that one time. The walls were much thinner than he had thought and now he felt terrible that she had heard him say that about her.

“ Don’t get all soft on me, Jaskier,” she said, and she still pronounced his name with a hard J sound, but her eyes were somewhat affectionate. “We have a reputation to maintain.”

Jaskier laughed. “I said that because I am a petty, petty being,” He admitted. “ I have a shirt that says, ‘Bisexual, Educated and Petty’ somewhere.”

Now it was Yennefer’s turn to be surprised, judging by her raised eyebrows. “ I…may have the same shirt,” she confessed.

Jaskier’s eyes lit up.

That was how the two of them had ended up on Jaskier’s living room floor, both wearing matching shirts, comfortable jogging bottoms, sipping wine, and talking about their past relationships. Yennefer, for all her high manners, was a pretty good listener, and the stories they exchanged felt surprisingly poignant to Jaskier. She had taken to searching through the makeup bag and had found some eyeliner, eyeshadows that she had deemed, 'acceptable' and was now using her fingers to apply them on his eyelids, colours she said would,'make his pretty blue eyes pop’.

“I mean, all I really want is someone to spend time with, and I enjoy a little fucking around here and there,” he lamented, eyes closed as he let his neighbour smear something cold and creamy on his eyelids. “But after a while, it’s like… they don’t want to get into anything serious, or they see me as too chatty, and then there’s no spark, you know? Or there IS a spark, but then it becomes a forest fire and it destroys everything…”

“You’re rambling, but I believe I understand,” murmured Yennefer, her voice low and concentrated as she studied her handiwork. “I have the opposite problem, I think,” she continued. “I was in two long-term relationships with men and it just made me feel…” she paused. “Too constrained.” She finished. “Don’t open your eyes now, I’m doing magic.” She warned.

She had taken to dabbing something against his eyelids and he complied. “I just want people to accept me as I am, and let me live my life,” she continued. “It’s hard being a witch, and half-Indian to boot, let alone part-elf-“

“Wait really?” Jaskier asked, interested, and opening his eyes on reflex. Yennefer slapped his arm in retaliation and told him to close his eyes again, which he complied.

“If you must know, yes,” she said, continuing to dab at his eyelids. “Can’t find any dates that are willing to stick around with that kind of pedigree. Too many expectations.”

Jaskier sighed. “I think I know what you mean,” he said, taking a deep breath. “My actual name is Julian Alfred Pankratz.”

It took a while for Yennefer to place the name, judging by the long pause. Then, a sharp intake of breath. It sounded like a hiss from where Jaskier was sitting. “The Earl de Lettenhove is your father?”

“ Yeap,” says Jaskier, his eyes still closed.

“The one that’s…”

“ Yeap,” he replied.

“But he’s…”

“ Yeah.” Jaskier took a swig from his wineglass, draining it in one gulp. It was a common reaction. His father tended to be the cause of that reaction.

“You poor bastard,” said Yennefer, with a glimmer of what could be admiration in her eyes.

Jaskier laughed.

Jaskier looked, dare he said it, good.

Yennefer had done well. She had somehow managed to turn a sad nerdy sack into…

“Melitele’s tits,” Jaskier exclaimed. “I look hot!”

 
“Not as hot as Melitele’s tits,” Yennefer corrected drily. “I can’t work miracles, and by her mercy, those tits are godly. Now hold still, I'm giving you a lovely red lip, your bowline is really precise and tons of people who love makeup will kill to have a lip like that."

It was true, Jaskier thought as he examined himself in the mirror. Jaskier had in his youth studied at Oxenfurt Academy, and the school grounds had a statue of the goddess in question, near the History department. The statue of her was beautiful. But goddamn he looked damn close.

 Somehow Yennefer had replicated the exact look he had been going for and she was right, his eyes were popping. The red lipstick she had pulled out of her pocket was an intimidating red but she had looked at it, then at Jaskier, snorted something about pretty white boys and not knowing how lucky they were not having to worry about all the undertones, and applied it on his lips. 

He looked like the gothic vampire queen of his dreams. 

He turned to Yennefer, eyes alight. “Marry me.” He said.

“Ew,” was her elegant, verbose reply.

“Well, at the very least teach me your ways!” Jaskier begged, too grateful to even retort to that comment, “I look hot, I need to learn how to do this for gigs around town, and my Instagram could do with more likes!”

That didn’t seem to sway her by any means, so Jaskier tried other tactics. “I’ll clean your place!”

“No.” Yennefer replied, looking away, clearly disinterested in what he had to offer in exchange for temporary hotness.

“If you help me, you’re technically showing how much of a HBIC you are-“  

“–And I already know that, so why even prove it?” Yennefer was studying her fingernails now, short, clean and neat.

“ I could write you a song-“

“ Nope, I don’t need that kind of attention in my life-“

“ I’ll cook for you!” Jaskier threw out, and ah, that got her attention. Sure, she didn’t say anything but he could tell she was interested. There was a reason for that: As a neighbour, Jaskier could tell Yennefer couldn’t cook to save her life. From the multiple times he had marched over telling her off about the smoke, he could tell two things.

The first: Yennefer was definitely a witch, and she made potions quite a bit.

The second: what skill she had in potion and magic making, she lacked in actual cooking. He’d had to direct the food delivery guy to the correct apartment a few times and he knew it was due to her inability to cook. The number of times she had take-out a week was quite concerning.

She was still resolute but definitely wavering. He could see it from her eyes. So he went in for the kill, thanks to much observation of her takeout bags from having to redirect them from his apartment.

“I could make you desserts.” He cajoled.

Yennefer looked at him with derision, exasperation, and a tiny bit of fondness.

“ Fine.” She growled. “But I’m only doing this for a week.”

A week passed, and then two, and soon after, it was evident that somehow, some way, Yennefer and Jaskier were becoming the best of friends.

Sure, Jaskier called her Jennifer at times (and the more insulting ‘Jenny’. Much consternation was had when Jaskier had sang ‘Jenny from the Block’ at her, which led to a lot of slapping from the witch in question), and Yennefer in turned called him Jas, but that was their thing.

They became friends.

Jaskier would bemoan his lack of a love life to her, and Yennefer would open up a bit more about her work and her life to him. It turned out that there wasn’t much work to be done for a witch in the age of technology and mechanics, and humans knew how to create their own magic now. The magical gigs that were hiring didn’t because she had ‘no experience’ as a recent graduate. It was driving her nuts. So she had to work in a bookstore that had a café in there.

Jaskier could relate. He played gigs when he could, which didn’t pay as much, and in his free time was a freelance writer, which barely helped to keep his apartment rental, clothes, books, strings for his instruments, and other essentials.  So the two of them, somehow, helped each other out. Jaskier would cook and feed her, and Yennefer helped him do his makeup and gave him space in the bookstore to read, compose music, and write his articles, making use of the wifi as much as he could.  The two of them would bicker, of course, but they were, somehow, friends.

“You know, a few months ago, if you said that we would become friends, I would have laughed.” he said casually as he sat in the bookshop cafe one day, trying his best to finish this one song that he wanted to debut that night at the club.

”I stIll hate your guts, if it helps,” Yennefer replied glibly, wiping down the counter at the cashier. “What did you put in that paella you made last night? It was divine, but my figure will never be the same. You’re making me fat.”

”Hey!” Jaskier protested. “Your bum looks luscious, and I will not deal with fat-shaming in this house!” He leaned back against the chair he was sitting on. “Besides, I am currently finalising a song about love, and self-hating will not occur here this day!”

Yennefer rolled her eyes, but then walked over to see what he was writing. “Is that the song you’re writing about me?” she asked, taking a seat next to his and grabbing the paper from his hands. Jaskier made a sound of protest, but the woman ignored him in favour of letting her eyes run through the paper silently, lips moving while reading the lyrics, her purple eyes alight. She turned to look at him, gesturing at the paper. “Well,” she said.

”What,” asked Jaskier, warily.

”Julian Alfred Pankratz…”

”Eurgh, are you full-naming me right now-” he groaned.

”You just wrote a song about me, in the form of the temptress, who will destroy any men who comes by her path,” continued Yennefer, “And I think you’ve somehow added two viewpoints in this….”

”It’s artistic license, you imbecile!” Jaskier snatched the paper away from her. “Also I think I was very flattering to you in this, it’s meant to be salacious, and also didn’t you make that guy you were seeing cry at your feet when you said you wanted to leave him?”

” I will have you know that they all did,” Yennefer huffed. “ So wait, how many parties are meant to be in this story?” she turned the paper to face him. “ There’s me, which is ‘she’, then a ‘you’ and an ‘I’? Is this a love triangle?”

”What?” Jaskier demanded. “No! That is to say…what?” he grabbed the paper and reread the entire song he had composed, and groaned. “ It kinda does read that way, doesn’t it.”

The nod he got from his neighbour was enough for him to put his head on his hands and scream bloody murder. “I will never get this song right!” he cried.

Yennefer patted his shoulder in what seemed to be a reassuring manner. “ Leave it, Jaskier. I really like it. It makes me sound like a monster succubus who has torn someone away from their true love. No one has ever written anything else as flattering.”

  It turned out she was not the only person who agreed. When Jaskier played the song at the local pub that night, he had received his biggest applause yet, plus a few numbers thrown his way from everyone who felt sorry for his ‘recent breakup’, including the cute bouncer who he had flirted with a few times before. The song became somewhat of a hit, for some reason, especially after he released it on his SoundCloud and Spotify. Yennefer never admitted it, but she preened a little when Her Sweet Kiss would play in the local cafes. 

Jaskier never shied away from the fact that he had written the song about Yennefer, though he did disclaim that he and the witch had never been in any relationship whatsoever. Yennefer herself would snort and call him a coward. Both of them, somehow, reveled in the song’s success.

Jaskier whistled as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment, a bag full of groceries and a heart feeling a bit lighter than usual. His new setlist of songs was doing pretty well, the cheque for his last freelance writing job finally came in, and for once, tonight, he had free time to himself. He was going to make a good dinner for himself and Yennefer,  he was going to take time off to scroll through Tinder and finally, maybe, get some of that skincare routine that Yennefer had recommended. She had managed to whip up a batch of moisturizer that she swore worked like a charm on her own skin, and Jaskier was going to be one of the first people to try it.

Which sounded rather nice when you thought about it, but Yennefer's own disclaimers about her work included things like, "Yeah your skin will be pretty, shame that your blood might be blue from now on” and “Don’t put it on injured skin, I think it thirsts for damaged flesh.”

He was sure she was trolling the shit out of him again. Though he did get a spare container to send to a mage friend of his, just in case.

As he made the final flight of stairs, something gave him pause. The shadows looked …darker than usual. The low, often buzzing light above the landing where Jaskier and Yennefer’s apartments were casting the same light, but overlaid in the shadows seemed to lay a much larger shadow than usual. It was…

Jaskier reached into his pocket for his keys, positioning them in such a way as to insert a jagged key in between his fingers, like that character he saw in a movie once, or the small child who did something similar with plastic forks that he saw in the park a few days ago. He stole a peek at the landing in question, making sure the shadow was still there.

It was, and the shadow belonged to a person… a being maybe? Large as anything, with white grey hair to boot. An old thug was here to…rob the apartments maybe? He’d never seen him before. Why was he hanging around Yennefer’s door like that?

Without hesitation, he dropped the groceries, grabbed his phone out of his pocket and started texting Yennefer.

com quick big guy robbin our place send help he wrote before he made the approach.

“I suggest you step away from the shadows, big guy.” He called out valiantly, trying to pitch his voice deeper and stronger than what he really felt, which was squeaky, chewable and soft. “I may be a fan of the way you stand and the entire broodiness, but if you mean harm to my apartment, or that of my neighbours, I will …” he assessed his situation and the things he could use for weapons, which included a long crusty baguette roll, eggs, and a gallon of milk. “…I will throw bread at you.” He finished lamely.

The figure, which had stiffened upon hearing someone call him out, somehow managed to stay even more still than earlier. And Jaskier, who had now properly revealed himself, had his keys in one hand, a baguette in the other, and slowly began advancing on the perp in question, which meant he actually got to see his full face.

And fuck, if it weren’t such a pretty face too. The man had a jawline square and sharp as anything, and if it were not covered in grey stubble, Jaskier believed that it would have been able to cut fucking steel, so hard and sharp it was. And a chin, oh what a fucking chin. It had a fucking dimple, and in any other circumstance, he would have been very willing to flirt his way out of the situation. Maybe put a finger on the dimple to see if it was real.

But fuck, he was not letting Model Perp get away with it!

“ I’ve called for reinforcements too, if it helps,” he continued. “It’s my house, and I have a right to protect it…”

With a fucking baguette, no less, but still. 

The figure shifted and Jaskier, in a fit of panic, starting screaming bloody murder, and flailed, flinging the bread at his attacker and backing away quickly. He could take him! Jaskier decided. The bread might have stopped him a little but he still had the gallon of milk, he could throw it at his face, and his keys could maim his face a bit, make it easier to identify to the cops. So the Model Perp's face would have a new scar...whatever, he'll be able to lead a gang in jail now, so fuck this! 

Before the smaller man could carry out Operation:Key Slash Milk Bash, a circle of magic opened and formed a portal, where the ever non-plussed Yennefer stepped out, hair still coiffed and unmussed from her travel. When she took in the entire scene in question, she snorted, and turned to look at the figure in question. 

"Geralt, you dolt. Use your words and say hello like a normal person," she scoffed, turning to Jaskier. "Jaskier, this is, unfortunately, my ex, and also my close friend. He will be staying at my place for a while, so I would implore you to stop throwing food at him."

And now that Jaskier could stop and think for a minute, he watched as Model Perp growled and stepped forward to greet Yennefer, and that was when Jaskier noticed a few things. 

The first: the man was, fuck his life, even more handsome than he had first realised. That jawline was exactly how he had expected, but he also had cheekbones that showed off his stubble to high degree, white blonde hair that seemed grey due to the amount of dust in it, and his eyes were yellow and feral. 

The second: The man was STACKED. Broad shoulders, with sleeves rolled up to reveal amazing hairy forearms, his chest looked wide enough for Jaskier to use as a mattress and it looked like his hands were huge, wide enough for one to cup a butt cheek.

And the third: the man was dressed in Witcher Blacks, he had a duffel bag on the floor, and he had a medallion decreeing him as a Witcher from the School of The Wolf.

Fuck. 

Jaskier may have actually assaulted a war hero.

Chapter Text

Witcher Geralt of Rivia, of the School of the Wolf, was one of the last few Witchers left in the world. Considering that magic was dying out in most parts of the world, the lack of need for Witchers could be considered a Godsend. The ones that lived,though, were in a weird balance, a caste of people that didn't consider themselves humans but did have a select amount of rights that were set up very recently (read: last 50 years recently cause even in a world that still had kikimore sightings, systematic discrimination against the intersectionally diverse was a thing.) 

Jaskier knows about this because he grew up sneaking information nuggets away like this from the dinner table, where his dad was preaching, as well as much reading on the internet when doing his university degree. Witching schools did provide a general education level that was similar to high schools, but the students that graduated were usually top quality warriors and magic users, who took on contracts as bounty hunters. Because of their high-quality work, many Witchers were usually for hire as independent contractors but were recognised in the government and the nation for their valour and bravery in battle, whether in peacetimes getting rid of monsters attacking villages or during times of war getting rid of monsters attacking cities. 

In that sense, they were an entity not dissimilar to the UN peacekeepers. Except for them, you know, being more effective and less bogged down by global bureaucracy. 

And Jaskier had accidentally threatened one of them with bread. 

He was short of a few marbles. Or a few ingredients missing from a sandwich. 

Specifically, the bread he used to throw at Geralt's beautifully angled, square jawline of a face. 

Goddamn it, Yennefer dated HIM? he marvelled as he watched Geralt in Yennefer's living room, looking marvellously out of place and nearly dwarfing the couch he was sitting on. The man had showered and changed out of his uniform and into a long-sleeved shirt and pants, which did not look dissimilar to his Witcher Blacks and did nothing to hide his buff arms, thighs and pecs. His long hair was washed and laid curling around his shoulders, a true ash blonde which made the man look fetching. Most of the dust and grime that had clung to his already pretty face had been washed off and well.

If he thought Geralt of Rivia had been handsome before, now he was blazingly, unfairly beautiful and godly.

Like an amazingly buff Legolas.

“You should have told me you were coming in earlier, Geralt!” Yennefer chided as she gave Geralt a large mug of steaming tea. “I’d already agreed to pick you up at the airport and portalling would have been much easier.”

The resulting, “Hmm,” from the larger man in question did not cause Jaskier’s libido to go into hyperdrive.

Nope.

Not at all.

But it did stir up other questions. Like did Geralt…talk? Like a normal human being?

Not that Witchers weren’t normal human beings, but he figured that they were at least chattier than Geralt of Rivia.

When he had introduced himself earlier, extending a hand out to shake, the bigger man had stared down his outstretched hand for more than necessary, until Jaskier had laughed nervously, and then tried to offer the man water.

Water. To Geralt of Rivia.

Gah.

Yennefer didn’t seem fazed, though. In fact, considering they were exes, they seemed rather amicable, if what she said about picking him up from the airport was true. Jaskier couldn’t imagine doing that for any of his exes.

He put aside his thoughts to get back to what was actually happening in the living room, where Yennefer was currently settling down on the couch to catch up with Geralt. Right, perhaps it was time for him to put out the Jaskier charm.

“So…Geralt!” he said, putting on a friendly smile, widening his blue eyes and looking as unaffected as ever. “Come here often?”

Yeah. Maybe he should just stop hitting on everybody.

Yennefer turned her gaze on him, an imperious, scrutinizing eye. Geralt turned his eyes to him and “hmmm-ed” again. 

Jaskier grinned, somewhat encouraged. “Well, that’s good to know!” he continued. This was the part where Geralt continued the conversation.

Unfortunately, Geralt did not, in any way, continue the conversation. In fact, Geralt did not talk at all during the entire time Jaskier was there. Yennefer took Geralt to see his sleeping arrangements and told Jaskier (not unkindly) that she would be taking Geralt out for dinner that night, so she wouldn’t be needing dinner. Jaskier waved his hand in forgiveness, she clearly had her hands full with her ex.

Besides, it was clear Geralt did not like Jaskier at all. As Jaskier made a move to go back to his apartment, Yennefer asked, with a touch of reproachment in her voice, “Really Geralt, was there any need to make fun of my poor neighbour? What are you here for anyway?”

“Blessed silence,” was the answer as Jaskier closed the doors to Yenneger’s apartment, and fuck, Geralt’s voice was like a deep rumble down the mountain valley, or down his bones. It sounded delicious if not for the fact that he sounded very annoyed. “ The neighbour of yours is way too chatty-“

Jaskier didn’t hear the rest, but he had established three things from his most recent interaction.

1) The man was, to put it simply, rude as hell. He could see why Yennefer had been in a relationship with him.

2) Jaskier’s brain was evidently okay with rude men who clearly hated him.

3) He needed to have sex soon if he was attracted to rude, handsome men like Geralt.

“You looked like you’ve been fucked,” Yennefer greeted him as he bustled into the café the next day, feeling pleasantly achey in all the right places. He had some luck on Grindr the night before, and after pleasantly great fucking and a quickie in the morning, he had left his paramour to go back home, pick up some breakfast, and get to the bookstore cafe with his work for the day. 

Jaskier smirked. “ Is it…that obvious?” he took to saying as he swanned his way through the packed tables to the counter, where Yennefer was serving coffee. “It puts me to blush with fervour, you sly minx, that you will know when I have had business to attend to with the beautiful beings I bed.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes, but went to make his favourite coffee order anyway. “ I don’t need to know when you get out to play, Jaskier,” she drawled, “But you could stand to tone down that smile of yours, it’s practically disgusting how happy you get in the morning after.”

”Yennefer, Yenni, Jenny from the Block,” Jaskier said, bouncing to the counter to lay his arms and head above them and smile dopily at her. “What can I say? This one, Yen, his nether regions were so bountiful that there was need to plow it…multiple times through the night. To examine the assets-”

The witch wrinkled her nose in disgust. 

“To toil and toil and see your efforts come to fruition-”

A grunt was heard and Jaskier turned his head to find Geralt of Rivia in Jaskier’s usual table at the bookstore table, grumpily reading what seemed to be a graphic novel that Jaskier was pretty sure was not stocked in this bookstore.

He turned to look at the rest of the bookstore café, which was fully packed, then turned back to Yennefer, who met his eye.

“ Sorry, Jaskier,” she said, “You’ll have to share with Geralt in the meantime, I didn’t think he would do fine in the apartment by himself.”

Jaskier groaned internally, but he was a glass half-full sort of lad, and his sex-capade the previous night had put him in a very happy mood. Maybe today would be the day he would charm the shit out of Geralt of Rivia with his patented charming self!

“Geralt, good morning, I love the way you just…sit in the corner and brood,” was his opening line to the tall man in question.

Geralt in turn looked at him, then back to Yennefer.

“I came to read alone,” he told her.

“Tough man-tits that belong to you, Geralt,” retorted Yennefer, now serving a new customer. “Let Jaskier sit, he’s a good kid, if a bit loose with his tenses and his song lyrics.” Here, Yennefer’s purple eyes met Jaskier’s in jest. “And with his relations,” she teased.

“Hey,” Jaskier retorted half-heartedly, as he casually tossed his set of papers, scoresheets, laptop, paper bag of cinnamon buns, and pens all over his desk. “No slut shaming in this house, and I happen to know we as neighbours have great relations!” He turned to Geralt, eyes alight, “You should have seen us when we first met, Geralt, t’was an amazing tale of how this beautiful being of light and joy became friends with the Witch next door…”

He then proceeded to chat at Geralt, telling the story of how Yennefer and he met, and how they became the way they were today. This entire story would have been shorter if Jaskier had not managed to interrupt himself a couple of times with questions about song lyrics, trying to coax Geralt to offer his opinions on certain situations, and then offering Geralt a cinnamon bun.

“So ultimately Yennefer and I are like…frenemies?” he finished, as he ate the cinnamon bun that he had offered Geralt, which somehow returned back on his plate and he then happily ate with no consternation. “Which is a great thing, in the grand scheme of life.”

Geralt, who had no actual contribution to the conversation whatsoever, merely “hmmed” again.

Jaskier frowned, “Do you talk about anything at any point?” he asked.

“Not to people who tell me about their life history in much detail then eat my cinnamon bun that they originally offered me,” was Geralt’s reply, not looking up while flipping a page on the graphic novel.

Silence. And then Jaskier threw back his head and laughed. “Geralt of Rivia,” he said, offering another cinnamon bun to Geralt, who made a point of taking a bite out of his bun. “We are going to be great friends.” 

Jaskier knew that he might be a little much for most of the people he met on a day to day basis.

This was something he had been much aware of since he was a kid, and something that had been (unsuccessfully) criticised by his parents, the teachers at school, and his paramours.  Suffice to say, it had not changed his personality one iota, but he took care to try and be a little more self-aware about the people around him, and try and tone it down. When it came to meeting new people, it took near all his effort to try and make new acquaintances feel welcome. That included making sure he didn’t overwhelm them with many questions, showering them with too many compliments, or even spending too much time so as to avoid all the above things.

Geralt of Rivia though…he was a fascinating man.

And well, Jaskier was only human.

Very, very human. 

So when Jaskier walked out on the stage to prep for a quick soundcheck at a tavern that was not crowded but slowly building up to it, and saw a hulking figure next to a svelte, petite witch, both dressed in black and drinking from their giant beer mugs at the front of the bar, Jaskier had to hop off stage, grinning from ear to ear in excitement, still clutching his guitar and ignoring the sqawking tech guy who was trying to help him mike up.  

"Yen, honey badger!" He called out, "I can't believe you came!"  

Cause Yennefer never came to his shows. Yennefer sneered at the idea of coming into little bars like the one they were sitting in now. Yennefer had once laughed in his face about him suggesting that she watch him perform Her Sweet Kiss at the very same bar a few months before. She had remarked that little bars like this had terrible trail mix and the ale was terrible.  

Yet here she and Geralt were, clearly consuming the terrible trail mix and drinking the terrible ale.  

"Jaskier," she said, drawling it out with a hard J sound, "Fancy seeing you here."  

Jaskier snorted. "Cut the crap," he grinned. "You came! And you brought Geralt!" He turned to the Witcher, who looked comically huge on the high bar stools and yet so strangely right in the small, run-down pub. 

"I had to," she sniffed."Couldn't find a babysitter, the usual one is performing today. Have you seen him? He tends to throw bread at my friends, can't apply his own makeup, sings about cats all the time-"  

"Hey!" Jaskier protested, waving his arm and nearly dropping his guitar. "I sang Cats only that ONE time! Same with the bread throwing!" He turned to look at Geralt, eyes alight, "Ignore her," he said, "I've been told that I am a delight, and my makeup skills are getting better." He took the moment to waggle his brows, which he thought he had done very well. He even kohl-ed up his eyes, and added some of the shiny stuff Yennefer gave him on his cheekbones, which he was told was called highlighter. It was really shiny. The bartender herself asked him about it. 

 He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but when Geralt turned his head away and,"Hmmm-ed," he was pretty sure it was a compliment.  

"So what brings you both here?" He asked, the question directed at both of them but his face paying attention only to Geralt. Cause. Yennefer he was used to. Geralt was beautiful. 

Yennefer might have said something, he wasn't sure. Probably something disparaging about Geralt. All Jaskier could see was Geralt bringing the mug to his lips, drinking his ale with an expression that could only be described as, ‘particularly disgruntled.’

“....right, yes!” said Jaskier, trying to disguise the fact that he was clearly distracted by the swole, long-haired, tank of a man that was sitting next to Yennefer. “So, in any case, I have to go...batter my throat with something sweet and lovely and oh, here comes the assistant, he has exactly what I need!”

That might have come out a little wrongly, but Jaskier didn’t pay any mind as he skipped off to placate his tech guy, who was yelling at him to get his house in order, his set was happening in 30 mins. 

That gave Jaskier time to run back, review his set list and grinned: Her Sweet Kiss was actually on it this time, he could actually perform it in front of Yennefer!

 He grinned.  

This was the best idea ever!

 That was not the best idea ever. 

 Not the performance itself, no. That went fine, as most Jaskier performances went. 

Yennefer, in particular, had gone, "Not as bad as I expected, but stop the vibrato, you tit." Which Jaskier had taken to mean the kind of a bird variety, and that was itself high praise from the witch in question.  

The problem was Geralt.  

Jaskier had no idea what had happened during the performance but somehow, Geralt was looking at him more often. When Jaskier had been chatting away at Yennefer, the man had thrown him a few strange glances, his brow furrowed, his golden eyes mixed with an emotion he really couldn't decipher. 

 (Jaskier would later understand that Geralt was looking confused and suspicious. But that was later.)

 He decided that the best way to diffuse the tension was to tackle it head-on. And he took that opportunity when Yennefer had excused herself to use the bathroom.

 "So…" he says, throwing a bright smile and cornflower blue eyes that he tried to make sparkle with mirth. (He had read it in a book once. It may have been a romance novel. There was a buff man in a billowing shirt that almost matched the buffness of the Witcher in question.) "Reviews? I saw that you didn't say a word even though everyone else had. Even darling Yen gave me a review and you know she usually hates me."

 He waited for an answer from Geralt, staring hard at the man, who was currently looking down at his mug and ignoring his sparkling blue-sea like eyes, which by the way was extra blue-y cause he had lined his eyes with the dark kohl and he knew from several interactions (as well as sex partners who had taken to wailing his name as he went down on them while still making eye contact) that they were especially fetching. Yet here this man was, ignoring their power. Rude.  

"Come on!" He cajoled. "Three words or less!" He started patting his pockets to see if he could find a coin to offer him ("A penny for your thoughts!" was his original next line.) Instead he found...a sandwich from where one of the techs had passed him half-heartedly before the event. And well, he had to be confident and try and get this guy to stop ...looking at him that way. "You wouldn't want to keep someone with...bread in his pants waiting?" He said lamely, producing the wrapped sandwich in its waxed paper with a flourish. 

 A beat. 

 Then…

 "What is it with you and baked goods, Jaskier?" Geralt asked drily. "You attack me with them, then eat my peace offering, then produce them during normal conversation. Are you a bakery?" 

Jaskier couldn't help it, he snorted a laugh as it was a truly ludicrous situation, him and baked goods around this Witcher. He nudged the sandwich towards him. "Take this then," he challenged. "As a peace offering. Which I will not eat," he added hastily as Geralt shot him a look. "For those unfortunate times, and we can let our new friendship be borne on this moment, in this bar!" 

Geralt didn't reply with any actual discernable words, but he did hmmm at Jaskier and so Jaskier was going to take this as him agreeing. He waved his hands at the bartender, who served him his complimentary beer that he was entitled to for performing, and he raised the mug, gesturing at Geralt to do the same.  

"To friendship!" He sang, waggling his eyebrows. Geralt, looking as though he was reluctant to do so, did the same. They both clinked their glasses and drank their beer down. 

 "They don't exist," said Geralt when they both placed their mugs down. Jaskier, who had no idea what he was talking about, turned to look at him. 

 "Hm?" He replied.  

"The creatures in your song," said Geralt. "They don't exist." 

 Jaskier snorted. He had came up with the songs when studying in Oxenfurt, and was aware of how some mythical creatures were created due to the lack of understanding and scientific fact, or just to embellish some of the more saucier tales. He was pretty sure that fauns, for example, didn't exist. Or mermaids. Or strigas. That story about Foltest and his queen, for example, was meant to be an allegory of ignoring the consequences of science and church, which were emerging at around the same time as his reign. Of course he knew they didn't exist… 

But Geralt did know for certain. He was educated in the lore and he had fought these creatures. He would know the history, the stories… the witchers were usually secretive and protective over their history, one which even the universities were not privy to. And the stance had relaxed in the last few years. Some of the remaining vestiges of Witcher lore had been lent to various universities, his alma mater included. Some of the library toured countries. He was aware that a member of the faculty back in Oxenfurt had been visiting a university in Singapore and had been using the books to discuss the history of myths and storytelling and ...hold the fuck up. 

 "But you'd know!"Jaskier says, brightly. "You'd know which ones existed and which didn't." 

"What," was Geralt's verbose reply.  

Jaskier grinned. 

It was then that Yennefer returned, looking as though she hadn't left for a good twenty minutes or so. "What did I miss?" he drawled. "Why does Jaskier look like he's found a new conquest?"  

Jaskier laughed. "Yennefer, possum child, bane of my life," he said. "Is it okay if I borrow Geralt a few times a week?"  

"What?" Was Geralt's contribution to the conversation which technically didn't really involve him. This was between him and Yennefer alone.

 Yennefer didn't even pause to ask why. "Take him," she said easily. "I don't like him underfoot in the store. Sides, he's meant to be on vacation, but he makes living everyday next to him a chore." 

 "That's not-"  

"I promise I will feed him and water him and take him out for plenty of walks!" Jaskier said with a grin. 

"I'm not a-"  

"You'll still make dinner right?" Yennefer asked, her mind clearly on priorities. 

 "Are you even liste-" 

 "Of course, my hateful shrew friend!" Jaskier laughed. "I'll do any food for you, you know that."  

Yennefer smirked. 

 Jaskier winked.  

Geralt growled. 

 And that was how Jaskier and Geralt found themselves sitting at the dining table at Jaskier's apartment, books piled up, sketch pad open, crumpled sketch paper everywhere, charcoal, pencils, notes strewn all over every available surface, alongside a cranky writer who was quickly losing his faith in his artistry and a rather calm, yet clearly grumpy Witcher who was ignoring the chaotic energy around him and reading a book about horse care.  

"How hard is it to draw a kikimora?" Jaskier moaned. "It's just a really aggressive fucking spider right? Why is it so hard?" 

 "Hmmmm," went Geralt, the fucking unhelpful bastard. 

" And YOU!" Jaskier pointed an accusing finger at the fucking unhelpful bastard. "STOP AGREEING WITH MY DRAWINGS WHEN YOU KNOW THEY'RE CLEARLY WRONG! I had to go online to check on my details and you were clearly just lying to me! At one point during the selkiemore sketch I drew a banana and you told me I was right! You weren't even paying attention!"  

Geralt shrugged. "I agreed to help you with this writing project you have about teaching the public about the monsters of yore from an actual expert," he said. "I didn't agree to tell you the truth." 

Jaskier gasped in horror. "Clearly the true monster was you!" He exclaimed. He was aghast. He had thought that the fact that Geralt had been initially reluctant to agree to this project, yet still sat down with him to go through the type of monsters together, was a clear sign that he was agreeing to the project out of the goodness of his heart and would be willing to help Jaskier out. Clearly he was wrong. 

 "Probably, yes," Geralt agreed, flipping the page of his book. 

 That cavalier fucker.  

No wonder he and Yennefer dated back then. They clearly deserved each other.  

Jaskier groaned as he went to get a glass of water. Why did he think it was a good idea? Clearly at the bar when his brainwave hit him, it made sense. Why not make a comprehensive website about Witcher lore, mythical animals and potion care, with information as sourced from an actual Witcher?  The man was actually there during the biggest events of Witcher history in the 20th and early 21st Century, for crying out loud! The lore around Witchers were quickly dying out, and clearly there was an academic need for a historic record as told by a Witcher who was actually there, and written by a Witcher who still remembered the customs!  

Why was the only Witcher he could ask such a fucking dick?  

Why did he think he could be friends with the man who clearly didn't want people to know him?  

Growling, he went back into the dining room, when he paused. Geralt, who had earlier been ignoring the amount of work Jaskier had put in earlier drawing the banana selkiemore, was looking through the notepad. His eyebrows were raised and his eyes looked thoughtful. Jaskier,  who had absolutely no idea what had made the Witcher look like that, decided to shrug and walk back to his spot. He grabbed the banana sketch, and decided to try and make the most of the afternoon by drawing a bunch of banana selkiemores in different sketches. 

 And then Geralt spoke.  

 "Why?"  

A one syllable word. Jaskier rolled his eyes. "Brevity is the soul of wit, Geralt, but I can't understand your genius at the moment," he drawled. 

"Why ...this?" Geralt gestured to the papers, the notepad scribbled with notes, all carefully written with Jaskier’s calligraphic hand, detailing every single piece of information Geralt had told him about the creatures. "Why the website?"  

Jaskier frowned. "I thought I explained this?”

Geralt glared at him, which Jaskier decided to interpret it as, No you godly genius,  you basically strong-armed me into this entire endeavour because you know more than I do. Sue him, he could interpret it any way he wanted, the man had basically told him nothing by lies right from the beginning.

“Witcher lore is something that hasn’t been explored in the last few centuries.” said Jaskier, as he tapped on the hardcover book jacket of one of the books that covered the history of magic, as written by a man who had never been a mage. As such, the book was full of historic inaccuracies that were later disproven by other anthropologists, historians and other lore guardians. Jaskier had a copy of it kept on his shelf he had swiped from his father before he had realised how badly written it was. "I just think other people should know about this, that's all. And it helps to make it accessible so people would know more about these creatures and what you do.”

Geralt snorted. Jaskier had taken it to mean, Yes, my good sir, please do carry on with your sayings, it pleases me, and continued. “When I was younger and in university,” he started, “ I met some elves.” Met was the most innocuous way of putting it. Filavandrel was one of his first lovers when in Oxenfurt, and despite his title as King of the Elves, was there on scholarship as kindly bestowed by the humans. It was a rather condescending move there but Filavandrel had taken the chance to get an education, and was slowly biding his time to take down the government as the politician he was born to be.  

He and Jaskier had back then spent time having slow, passionate love making that still made Jaskier’s eyes roll back thinking of it, and they had parted ways as good friends, Filavandrel going to get his master’s and then PHD in magical creature political science, and Jaskier going on to attain his double degree in both history and musical theory. Filavandrel had given him his first elven lute, the one he used when he was not out with his old guitar. They still caught up whenever Filavandrel was in town, mostly to have sex and just bally on have a good time.

“They opened me up to the issues of rights and intersectional feminism that I hadn’t exactly known before,” he admitted.”And they made sure I learned if I spouted any of the propaganda some organizations were giving at the time.” Read: The elves, mostly Filavandrel’s best friend Tourviel, did not hesitate to hit him up the head if he had accidentally said any racist bullshit. Filavandrel let them, even if he did take time to lavish care and head petting during sex afterwards. But it had been one of the reasons why Jaskier made damn well sure that he paid attention when the elves taught him things about elf history and lore. It was also one of the reasons he parted ways with his father for good. But that was another story altogether.

 “It got me thinking about the rights of other people and how some people deserved to have their stories told, even if they had to guard it zealously before.” He continued. “There was a reason why it was so protected right? And it was mostly because they had so precious few places to talk about this history.” When most of the world was still sharing the same old historical texts again and again, it made sense that the elves kept their oral tradition of storytelling alive. It was their way of making sure their legacy continued for those who mattered. And Jaskier, who was a fan of storytelling, wanted to make sure it was preserved as much as possible. For anyone.

“ So.” Jaskier paused. He had absolutely no idea how to end this rather personal story. He had never even spoken this much about his involvement with the elves to Yennefer. “Erm… yes. Elves. And then you came and then… well.” This was beginning to get awkward. “Yen always speaks highly of her exes, even if they were, in her words, ‘blithering idiots’. And more often than not, Yennefer’s judgement in people is sound.”

The silence between the two of them was now so thick Jaskier was pretty sure it was actually going by two C’s instead of a k and was being popularised on memes everywhere. But then Geralt actually replied.  

“ You...have a lot of faith in her judgement.” he said hesitantly. Jaskier almost laughed. Yennefer was a pain in the butt sometimes, but somehow, they had become strong confidants. And judging by the way Geralt looked...

Oh lord. He knew that look. That was the look people had when they were pining away for someone.

And Geralt was clearly pining. For...Yennefer.

Of course he did. They were both clearly beautiful, and their dry humour was something Jaskier enjoyed. Yennefer had clearly been amicable with Geralt. And the two of them clearly had something… this explained the look Geralt had at the bar after his set really, it was clear he wanted to make sure Yen was protected and suspicious of any new paramours. Jaskier grinned. This? He could handle.

“ Oh yes, Yennefer has always been amazing.” he said, putting on his best wingman voice. “ She’s pretty, smart, tongue like an acid-spitting fire wyrm, eyes like a violet dream, I wouldn’t be surprised if anyone’s been pining after her.”

Geralt, who didn’t even seem to realise Jaskier was being helpful, was staring off into the distance, looking for all the world like he wasn’t listening. Jaskier would have been more exasperated with the man if not for the fact that he knew the man was in love and had no idea how to show it. In fact….

“ I’ll do it.” was the gruff reply.

Wait what.

“Whaaa?” was Jaskier’s verbose, elegant reply. And he was not gaping at Geralt like a fish either. That was another person.  

"Your website." Geralt clarified. When Jaskier's only reaction was to continue his best impression of Dory from Finding Nemo and its sequel, Geralt sighed. "I will help you. Properly. With the website."  

Jaskier looked at him with suspicion.  

"Promise?" He asked.  

Geralt nodded.  

Jaskier was still suspicious. "And you'll tell me about your Witcher secrets?"  

Geralt hmmed. Which Jaskier took to mean: Yes, my big strong leader, I will help. And I'll be helpful. But it was Geralt, and Jaskier wasn't sure if he meant it. But he could pretend it was.  

He still wasn't that convinced, until three days later, when Jaskier walked into his living room and found a large, manila envelope that had been slid under his door.  

 He hesitated for a full minute, worries of possible blackmail photos, kidnapped relatives, or worst of the worst, a supermarket flyer going through his mind before he just rolled his eyes at his overreactive imagination, and opened it. 

 What he got was unexpected. 

Sketches. Organised by size, with detailed diagrams written in a clear, nearly calligraphic hand. The creatures drawn on the paper were done with a sure, steady hand, using pencils. He flipped through them, trying to see what was done. Striga, drowners, wyverns...he passed by a sketch that was labelled selkiemore that had a sketch of a banana on it and he snorted.  

There was no note, but Jaskier knew who they were from. And his heart softened at the thought of the hulking man hunched over sketch paper, looking skeptical and unhappy as he tried to get the sketch of the kikimora right ( also damn, how did he make it look so realistic?)  

It was this that led him to slam open the door of Yennefer's workplace an hour later, grin wide, hair tousled, eyes full of sparkle, especially when he saw that Geralt himself was sitting at the usual table (their table now, Geralt was such a soft boi he was willing to share the table now, and call him all the nicknames, now that he knew Geralt wasn't a surly asshole.)  

"Geralt, you ol' daft sod!" He grinned, sauntering up to the man. "The sketches were amazing, why didn't you tell me you were an artist?" 

Yennefer, who was at the counter, paused in her wiping, but Jaskier had only eyes for for the tall, hulking man with silver hair. Who was reading another book about horse care. The Witcher looked up at the beaming Jaskier in question, and just 'Hmm'-ed in question. 

 "You giant softie you!" Jaskier laughed. He turned to Yennefer and opened the manila envelope, babbling about the work of Geralt and his amazing eye for detail. 

Jaskier was almost certain he saw the faintest twitch of amusement in her eyes. “Geralt drew these? So this was what you were up to while I was going to bed early?” she said teasingly at Geralt. Who, as Jaskier could see from his entire demeanour, looked faintly embarrassed.

But of no matter! Jaskier thought! Any way of getting Geralt back into the good books of his ex who he was clearly in love with, the better. And if that meant helping his heart’s desire’s neighbour work on his website, then the neighbour was going to help in every way possible!

Jaskier grinned. “You should have told me you were so good at it!” Jaskier chided. “Now I don’t have to worry about the art for the site itself!”

Geralt grumbled, but that was okay.

Jaskier had a proper mission now!

Chapter Text

So that’s what they did, the next few days, and they established a new normal. Jaskier and Geralt would hang out in the living room floor of Jaskier’s apartment and work on establishing the database of information and the profiles of the different monsters. Jaskier would get Geralt to work on his drawings, and he would work on making sure the text was right. And to do so, that meant asking Geralt questions.

Lots and lots of questions.

To be fair to Jaskier, it had to be done! If this website was meant to be an accurate representation of Witcher life, that would mean getting every aspect of his life down. Geralt would understand!

“No.”

Geralt did not, in fact, understand.

“Come on, tell us, please!” Jaskier pleaded. “For your adoring public!”

“ You are only asking for some perverse pleasure, Jaskier-”

“ Are you calling me your adoring public, Geralt? You flirt-” Jaskier teased. He wished he didn’t do that. He’s a taken man, Jaskier! He internally chided. Remember Yennefer? The one who actually demonstrated how she actually ripped the weave off another witch called Fringilla? Geralt was in love with her!

“I have answered your questions,” Geralt grumpily said. Today his hair was tied back in a ponytail, though Jaskier was pretty sure he didn’t actually comb through his hair before doing so. He was dressed in a long sleeved black shirt and pants which seemed super uncomfortable, and it didn’t make sense to Jaskier, because it was a warm and lovely day out. “I helped you sketch that selkiemore and what I had to do to kill it. I don’t think I need to answer anything else about my...clothing choices.”

Jaskier was aghast. “ It’s a simple question, Geralt!” He explained for the 546th time. “Clothes may maketh the man, but the underwear supports the genitalia to be anything you want, so the question, again: Boxers or Briefs?”

Geralt, who was reverting back to his cranky, no answering for anyone’s pleasure mode, was silent, and Jaskier, who was not actually that stubborn of a man, decided to let him be. He opened the fridge to get a carton of milk and realised to his dismay that hadn't any left. In fact, he was overall running low on a few supplies.

"Blast it," he muttered. "Geralt, we may have to reschedule, I have to do a bit of grocery shopping-" and that was when he remembered.

Jaskier had, in accordance to their own previous arrangement, made portions for Yennefer and she had, in turn, coughed up money for the grocery shopping for herself and Geralt, since the man was now living there for the foreseeable future. Apparently Geralt had a bank account that the government set up for him, which gave him cash for daily necessities and other expenses, along with any money for the work he did, independent or otherwise. Geralt didn't seem to spend much on himself, which was a shame really, but he did contribute his own share of the grocery shopping.

It also meant, however, that while Jaskier had more money to buy food with, he had no idea what else to buy.

What did Geralt like to eat, for example? Was he a meat man? Steak? Potatoes? It was hard creating dinners and while Geralt never complained about what he ate, it still made sense to ask.

So Jaskier did.

"What?" Geralt replied.

Jaskier repeated the question and it transpired that Geralt, despite the fact that he was a manly man of a manly size, didn't actually have a preference for meals. He ate what he got on his missions, and before that, he ate what he got in school. Jaskier, who was now very concerned over Geralt's eating habits (did that mean he never had sweets? Not even chocolate? Or soda? Was Geralt okay?) was so upset just thinking of a young Geralt being denied even the simple vanilla ice cream cone, made a smart decision.

"You're coming with me to the store." Jaskier declared.

"I'll eat whatever you make, Jaskier," was the reply. "I'm not such an ungracious guest that I would refuse to eat your meals."

"Ah ah ah!" Jaskier waved his finger. "No. You are Yen's guest and close friend. You are paying money for the grocery run as long as you are here, and as such you have a say in deciding what groceries we can have. Yen always claims she likes being healthy and insists we get tons of fruit but she also likes it when we have Sour Plum Sweets in the fridge cause she is a bitter, bitter child. In this house, we do not ignore our guests and their preferences, so buck up, get changed, and come with me to the supermarket!”

Geralt, the gracious man that he was, refused.

And thus it was so that Jaskier, dressed in a breezy tropical shirt over a lace tank top, skinny jeans that he knew made his butt look luscious, and Converses (The theme of the day was Easy, Breezy, and Beautiful), was waiting in the vegetable aisle contemplating on what fruit was better for the week, by himself. Because Geralt was a stubborn, stubborn man.

So here he was, by himself.
And, by god, there was a very cute fruit stocker piling lemons. High cheekbones, raven hair, eyes that fucking twinkled like stars, Jaskier may have fallen a little in love with her.

In fact, Jaskier and the fruit stocker (whose name was Priscilla) had been conversing for a few good minutes (Read: Jaskier started the conversation with, “You must be the sweetest thing in this lemon aisle,” Priscilla giggled, but declined his efforts as she already had her own thing going on with someone else, Jaskier pretended to pout but decided to move on with life cause he was cool that way, and they both started talking fruit pickup lines).

As they walked down the fruit aisle towards the vegetable aisle where she was about to restock courgettes and Jaskier was examining a particularly beautiful eggplant, they learnt about each other. She was his age, a lover of music, and actually pulled out her phone to show Jaskier her Patreon page with her tunes, as she was a budding singer songwriter herself.

Jaskier, who was about to put down the eggplant to reach into his pocket to grab his phone and show her his own Patreon page, was then surprised by the last person he expected to see at the supermarket.

"Jaskier," said Geralt of Rivia, still wearing black, though his hair was now combed back and placed in a proper bun. He was carrying what seemed to be flour, beef cubes, carrots, rice and chicken stock in his arms. "I've been looking for you."

Jaskier, who had absolutely no idea that Geralt had actually followed him to the store, was so shocked over Geralt's sudden appearance that Priscilla had to react. "Let me get those for you," she said kindly, gathering the items out of Geralt's arms and helping place them in Jaskier's trolley.

Jaskier, who found his tongue, was still in shock. "You actually...wow!" He babbled. "Geralt! You came!"

The man in question may have gone still and Jaskier, who immediately realised what he had said, started sputtering in protest because that was NOT what he meant, not that there was nothing wrong with coming, but just that it was an unexpected coming, and then Jaskier tried to double back on that, because unexpected comings was not what he meant but he completely understood that some comings were unexpected, and he was fine with that kind of thing, he had experienced them before.

He then realised that in his panic he was actually manhandling the eggplant, creating indents into the smooth skin, and he squealed in panic as he tried rubbing the skin of the eggplant to smoothen it out and hope nobody noticed, but that made him look even more inappropriate. A couple who were both wearing cute shorts were actually gaping at him, Priscilla was cupping her hand to her mouth to stop laughing out loud, and Geralt was not...responding at all.

Jaskier, who had realised then he was digging himself into a bigger hole, decided to finally shut up.

And drop the ruined eggplant into the trolley.

He could make eggplant parmagiana that night, why not? He was not going to break eggplants like this, and STOP IT WITH EGGPLANT MANHANDLING.

“Come here often?” was his next line, trying to be as cavalier as possible, leaning on the trolley handle like he was being casual.

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

Priscilla had given up the ghost and started laughing out loud.

Jaskier wanted to die.

Geralt cleared his throat, and said, as gruffly as possible. “Stew. I think… you asked...I like stew.”

Jaskier, who could get with stew, no worries there, started babbling about how stew was a great addition to the dinner schedule, while Geralt silently added some bok choy, onions and carrots into the trolley. Priscilla, who was a lovely person, suggested additional ingredients that could be made into stew and Geralt, who had nodded his head in acknowledgment, ventured towards the direction Priscilla had happily pointed out, along with the trolley.

She turned back to the rather embarrassed man, and went, “You didn’t need to flirt with me earlier, you know,” with a touch of reproachment in her tone, but her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Your man seems lovely, and if you’d had an argument before, you should make up with him.”

Jaskier, who had no idea what she was talking about, opened his mouth to protest. “I’m not...we’re not...dating!”

Priscilla’s eyes widened, then looked over at the Witcher in question, who was staring at the wide array of juices, looking contemplative. Then she turned back to Jaskier and, seemingly making up her mind, took out her phone and offered it to him. “Give me your deets.” she said. “ You like music, we artists have to stick together, and I really want to see what happens next.”

Jaskier, who really had no idea what else to say, but he did genuinely like Priscilla and her ability to not judge him on his awkward public tendencies, did the same. Then he ran off to the direction of where Geralt was, still at the juice section.

“ I…didn’t think you would know where I was!” Jaskier panted, leaning against the trolley, arm gripping the metal basket body. Geralt actually knew where he was! He and Jaskier could read each other’s minds now! Was this a sign? The way they could sense each other’s distress and need and…

“ You had the receipts of this supermarket on the fridge,” Geralt pointed out rather sensibly, putting in two cartons of orange juice. “ The address is on it.”

Oh.

Jaskier’s look of dejection must have been obvious to Geralt, because Geralt had helpfully replied, “ You will like orange juice, Jaskier. Vitamin C is important. Prevents scurvy.”

While that was…completely correct, Jaskier decided to ignore that in favour of grinning proudly. “ It doesn’t matter, Geralt, you darling man!” He said. “You came to the shops with me! It counts!” He took the chance to add in two packets of corn chips, and a bottle of vodka, because this was a celebration!

Geralt, the man who clearly didn’t see eye to eye on what constituted a celebration, took away the vodka and replaced it with a bottle of pro-biotic yogurt. He even replaced the corn chips with something called fortified wholewheat bread.

The asshole. But Jaskier was fine with that, because it turned out Geralt of Rivia was a big old softie, and he was going to make all the stew for him.

Wait.

“ Geralt, I can’t be making stew for you this whole time…Geralt…GERALT!”

“Do you…actually feel comfortable with what you are wearing?” Jaskier asked, a few days later, as he looked over his writing at Yennefer’s café at where Geralt was sitting, still wearing a black shirt and long pants, and the same boots he had been wearing like what he had been wearing the last few days.

Geralt grunted in reply. Today he was reading a book about politics in Redania. Jaskier decided to ignore that reply and went straight to the source.

“Yen, does Geralt actually wear anything else?” he asked Yennefer, who had just finished closing up the fridge after unloading the cakes from a box in the kitchen.

The witch wrinkled her nose, trying to remember. “Black shirt, black shirt, Witcher Blacks, black shirt, leather pants, spare leather pants, grey sleep shirt, black sweat pants…” she recited. Then she frowned. “Actually…no he doesn’t.”

Jaskier whistled. Then he turns to Geralt with a gleam of menace in his eyes. Yennefer, looking over, cackles and does the same.

Geralt, who was unfortunately used to this by now (the two had similar looks when it came to veto-ing him on alcohol choices for the last few nights), groaned.

“See, Geralt, in most circumstances, this will be your ‘She’s All That’ moment.” Jaskier drawled as he leaned back, holding a beautiful sequined jacket against him and wondering if he had enough cash to buy it. It had a few seams broken but Jaskier was skilled in the ways of the thread, he could sew it up. And this was one of the benefits of thrift shopping. Finding very rare, kitschy pieces that could be mixed with a few other things to create an eclectic outfit. Even on days when he wanted to be low-key he could build an outfit just from one beautiful piece and mix in a few basics into the mix.

It was one way of being able to afford looking as good as he did. When he had been younger, ganglier, bonier, Jaskier had been dressed by his mother, who had mostly given him browns, subdued blues, and white oversized collared shirts.

Quite a lot of cargo shorts were involved.

Jaskier compensated by blossoming at college and hanging out with the artistic crowd as well as the elves, which taught him how to dress and, even better, how to thrift shop. They also taught him how to make clothes, and Jaskier had on good authority that Filavandrel still wore his suit jacket that Jaskier had made him (usually on the news and when Fila visited Jaskier. It made a lovely puddle on the floor of Jaskier’s bed sometimes.)

There was a sound of grumbling where Geralt was, struggling to put on clothing in the small stall. Geralt had been summarily marched into the thrift store, fawned over by the retail assistants, had a pile of clothes thrown at him by Jaskier, and now was trying on clothes. The brunette was pretty sure now that Geralt's lack of care for himself was a symptom of his self-sacrificing personality and wanted to make sure that he had some nice things for himself.

He had even pointedly made sure to put in a few black clothing items for Geralt to try on, just to ease Geralt a little more into the experience of clothes shopping.

He wasn’t a fucking monster, just well…a little bit terrible.

Also it gave Jaskier the opportunity to oogle the shit out of this man in a beautiful, made for TV moment makeover montage.

He was a shameless, shameless man.

Jaskier laughed as he removed the jacket from the hanger, just to see how it hung on his body. “Geralt, come on out and show me what you have so far!” he called out. Geralt didn’t look too happy when confronted with the pile, but Jaskier had tried to make sure most of the clothing fit him.

If one or two of the outfits were just a teeny bit small on him, then well.

They would cross that bridge when they saw it.

Preferably over it.

Thrown all the way over there.

Geralt shuffled out and Jaskier had to keep himself from reacting outwardly because goddamn.

Witcher build was a definite thing. And it came in handy in a lot of situations.

This was…decidedly not.

“ Why.” Geralt asked flatly, wearing what seemed to be a unicorn onesie.

Jaskier, who may have thrown that unicorn onesie into the pile as a joke, had been trying to stop himself from laughing too hard at the grumpy Witcher dressed as a unicorn. “I mean, what’s wrong with the shape?” he asked, trying his best not to cry. “I think the material’s…soft. And you like horses.”

Geralt fumed at himself in the mirror. Jaskier secretly snapped a picture to send to Yennefer and had to wait until Geralt had pulled the curtain shut behind him before he could break down laughing.

Jaskier lifted his eyes when he heard the curtains slide open and felt himself having to control himself in a different way altogether.

Well. When he picked that collared shirt, he was …not expecting this.

“I don’t feel comfortable with how tight this is,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier’s throat was feeling all sorts of dry. He had honestly no idea that the structured, stiff material of the shirt would wrap about his chest like…shrinkwrap. Or that the short sleeves would show off his arms that well.

At least it was not black, but a lovely wine red. And it contrasted so well with that thick lovely pale, hollow of his throat, under that jutting Adam’s apple, and framed lovingly by that unbuttoned collar.

Jaskier managed to find his voice. “I think it’s scrumptious, and it’s not tight, it’s fitted!” he protested lightly. His hands reached over, almost automatically, towards his collar and he spent time fussing over it, brushing imaginary lint off his chest and silently marvelling over how warm his body felt, especially over his lovely, lovely pecs. Witchers could apparently regulate their body temperatures. This was a random fact that he had learnt from Geralt in the last few days.

He learnt a lot of random facts about Witchers in the last few days.

Well, Geralt, mostly.

Like the fact that he ate anything placed in front of him, but when asked to choose, he would surreptitiously try to push the choices towards anything with meat and potatoes. He appreciated spice but could not eat too much of it at once because it overwhelmed his senses. He was partial to black coffee, but if offered would take two cubes of brown sugar with it. The Witcher apparently liked waking up early to meditate and go to the gym, but could not for his life do pilates. He loved horses. He sketched monsters with a delicate touch that more artists on Tumblr would die for. And well…Geralt was smart. The man didn’t say much but he was wry when he did. His banter with Yennefer proved that he had a dry sense of humour.

And he was clearly in love with Yennefer.

Jaskier shook his head from that pervasive thought.

“Whaddya think though, Geralt?” he asked, distracting himself.

The man, who was silent the whole time Jaskier had been thinking, didn’t respond. Jaskier turned to look back at the man and was surprised to see how close they had somehow become. And he was still adjusting his collar. And with the way they were positioned, Jaskier’s fingers, long and tapered around Geralt’s neck, Geralt’s head a little bowed so he was looking straight into his eyes and Jaskier wasn’t even a short man by any means, but damn.

In any other circumstance, it would look as though they were about to enjoy something intimate, something a little more for behind closed doors.

In any other circumstance, it would look as though they were absolutely in love with each other.

A buzzing in his pants area reminded him of other worldly things besides his overactive imagination and a penis that liked beefy men with beautiful shoulders and a chest firm enough to make teeth marks on, which was a message. He snatched his arms back from Geralt's shoulders and reached into his pockets to grab his phone and read the message.

From Yennefer of Vengerberg.

Which. You know, was a reply to the photo of Geralt he had sent over to her

Which was an emoticon of a thumbs up and He cleans up nice, I forget that he does sometimes!

Jaskier laughs, partly in amusement, mostly to cover up his shame in being attracted to a man that was clearly in love with a witch as scary as Yennefer. He texted back.

lols his arms are thicc, babes! Cant believe you gave up prime beef material!

you manwhore, you was the text Yennefer sent back, and he laughed.

"Yennefer?" Geralt asked, hidden behind the curtain where he was changing.

Jaskier nearly dropped his phone in shock. Blue eyes wide, he chanced a look at the changing room where Geralt was. "Whaaaa?" He asked.

"Who you're texting." Geralt's voice was a bit growlier. When Jaskier had chosen wisely not to reply, an audible sigh could be heard. "You're taking photos for Yennefer and sending it to her for approval."

Jaskier's first reaction, which was to panic, was overthrown by his second reaction, which was to deny everything in a calm, orderly fashion in order to not arouse suspicion. "I am denying everything in a calm, orderly fashion in order to not arouse suspicion," said the man dutifully. Hey, it worked.

Geralt made a noise that could almost sound like a laugh, if not for the fact that Jaskier was pretty sure Geralt was a grumpy grump who liked being grumpy. "Stop sending photos to her," Geralt's voice, gruff with love and exasperation that Jaskier could sense was directed solely to his ex girlfriend for whom he still loved.

Jaskier couldn't help but laugh, "How else are we to help you find a pretty woman to date you for companionship, you brute?" he chided lightly. "She and I only wish for you have the best. Besides, explore outside your colour palette. There are prettier colours than black."

He turned just as Geralt drew the curtain to reveal that he was wearing a black t shirt emblazoned with letters of a deeper, shinier black, reading, "Hello Darkness My Old Friend" stretched across his chest. Over it was a black leather motorcycle jacket that Jaskier was very sure he didn't pick out, dark jeans and beautifully made scruffy boots. The jeans looked buttery soft. Jaskier's mouth watered as Geralt turned to examine himself in the mirror, and revealed that his butt looked like it was in need of a loving caress.

"Oh no," Geralt intoned, a soft rumble in his voice that nearly hid how dry his tone was. "Black is my happy colour. How will I cope?"

Jaskier had to pull his gaze away to snap a picture for Yennefer (and another for himself, cause GODDAMN no one should look that hot even when dressed like a cliché goth biker and he had proof) and gave Geralt an approving, if a little judgy, nod. "If you insist on dressing in black, then you should at least have comfortable clothes, Geralt." He said.

Geralt looked back at the other discarded pieces of clothing, then picked up the unicorn onesie that he had tried on first. "I ... didn't mind this one," he rumbled, looking down at his boots. "My goddaughter has a similar one, and it wouldn't be terrible if we had matching ones when I call her."

And fuck. He had a goddaughter too that he was clearly a fucking softie for? Fuck him. Fuck his life. Fuck fuck fuck. Jaskier was always going for the unattainable ones. A straight guy who was in love with his ex and who was so cool Jaskier could never hope to even be in his radar.

He sighed, and accompanied Geralt to the cashier, snagging the sequinned jacket on his way to join him.

Fuck it, he needed the retail therapy to get over his small, but clearly visible crush on Geralt of Rivia.

And another cruise around Grindr or Tinder, just for a little reprieve for the night after this shopping trip. After going to a few more stores just to get more comfortable clothes, and shoes for that matter.

Ooh, maybe this clothes shopping trip would help Yen see a different side to Geralt, and that could lead to a fancy night for them!

He could give Yen and Geralt some time to bond, and maybe fall in love with each other again!

And as for Jaskier? Well, he could stand to take some time for himself.

Take it in hand...and someone else in his hand too.

Jaskier opened the door to let his latest paramour out the door, and screeched in the manliest of fashions when he saw Geralt of Rivia standing outside his door, hand raised and curled in a fist, about to knock.

His one night stand, aka HottieMcHotpants, (as was his handle on Grindr) who was in the midst of putting his shoes on, fell over in shock.

Geralt was frozen at the doorstep and Yennefer, who had heard the commotion and opened her door to peer at what was happening, just stood there to laugh, that traitor.

Jaskier bent over to give his latest sex partner a hand while Geralt, the man that was more awkward than anyone would ever think he was, tucked his hand back down and stepped aside to let the paramour go. HottieMcHotpants gave Jaskier a quick hand gesture which translated easily to, "Call me, you insufferable minx." (Jaskier's words, not theirs) and left.

"Really Geralt, you oafish brute, don't frighten off my lovely night guests that way," he turned, slapping the man on the chest. He was a little annoyed that Geralt had come between him and HottieMcHotpants. Who, despite the name, didn't even hold a candle to the Witcher who was wearing a charcoal grey tank, black leggings, and sneakers. Yennefer was wearing something similar.

Fucking sporty sports couple and their morning exercises.

But hot damn the exercises were paying off, Geralt's chest was firm. Sturdy. But it did have a little give to it, which would be attributed to nice warm flesh. Fuck fuck fuck, distract self, distract self!

"Yen, stop laughing, by Melitele's beautiful clavicles," he groused good-naturedly, turning his attention to the witch.

"Ah, but Jaskier, you are making it so hard when your own clavicles are showing themselves off so beautifully," Yennefer cackled as she strode in, a silent Geralt behind her. "Are you always this hairy? Here I was calling you a twink in my head when really you're more of an otter, aren't you?"

It was then that Jaskier, closing the door, properly realised that he was wearing a silk kimono over a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else, his feet bare. He still had his contacts in, which were driving him nuts because HOW DRY WERE HIS EYES NOW, and his kimono was nearly falling apart at the neck to reveal a good amount of chest hair. He yelped and ran back into his room to change, take out his contacts and replace them with glasses, and open the window to air out the room after his strenuous activities.

He returned to the kitchen to find Yennefer on his sofa while Geralt was in the kitchen, unpacking and plating what seemed to be food. Whatever it was, it had smelt wonderfully warm and sweet.

"Pancakes?" He queried as he sidled up to Geralt. He could smell it: sweet, hot, warm. He could smell coffee as well, bitter as hell, which hopefully meant a dark roast.

He loved a good dark roasted coffee like how he loved his lovers.

Incapable of loving him back.

“You’ve cooked the last few meals,” Geralt explained as he patiently plated another portion. “This is our way of thanking you.” He passed a plate to him, which had three pancakes, a liberal amount of maple syrup on it, bacon, and sunny side up eggs. He then handed him a large takeaway cup of coffee, and Jaskier saw with some excitement that it was from the coffeeshop he frequented when he wasn’t at Yen’s store.

He placed the plate on the table and took a slow sip of the coffee.

Oh thank gods, it was black black black like his petty petty heart. And strong. And bitter. He was awake again. The black coffee was an Evanescence song.

“ Well!” he said, feeling absolutely awake. “ That coffee was absolutely perfect, thank you! Yen!” he beckoned her over. “You have to try this , it’s so bitter, just like you!”

“ Haha,” Yen says drily, and she goes over to sip from his cup, making a face as she did so. “Jaskier, that is disgusting!”

“Huh, I would have expected you to guzzle this by the gallon,” Jaskier teased, sitting down to take a fork and knife to his pancakes and eggs. This was perfect. Geralt and Yen even managed to get his egg preferences right. “It’s amazing, thank you so much!”

Yen cackled, and started sipping from her own cup, which she passed over to Jaskier to try when he started making grabby hands. It was chai, apparently. He could appreciate tea as much as the next person, but even the spicy hot chai could not dissuade him from his first love of coffee.

Geralt watched the entire exchange with narrowed eyes. And Jaskier then remembered that maybe being so close to friends like this by heteronormative standards may not be a good idea especially for a clearly straight man like Geralt. So he decided that maybe being too close to Yen was not a good idea.

“Well!” Jaskier said, changing the subject. “We’re making significant headway with the Witcher Compendium-“

“ What?” Geralt asked.

“ Compendium, it means a collection of information on a very specific subject-“

“ I know what a compendium is, Jaskier,” Geralt said patiently and Jaskier’s heart melted just a bit more knowing that Geralt was smart enough to keep up with his verbage. “I didn’t realise we named it.”

“Of course we did, Geralt, dear heart…”he caught himself and winced, “….less man.” There, much better. “We have to.”

“The artwork is beautiful, by the way,” Yen interjected, looking like she was about to smirk. “Also, Geralt, you’ve been holding out on me. I never realised Witchers could draw …”

“ It’s one of our classes.” Geralt rumbled, and was it him or did the Witcher look uncharacteristically shy? “We do a lot of anatomy study, and science in the afternoons when our training exercises are done. It’s required learning.” He stabbed his bacon with a fork. “Easier to know where the weak points are when you have them all drawn out in a diagram.”

Yennefer pondered, while Jaskier grinned. “ The compendium is going to be awesome, Jenny,” he enthused. “Geralt is even doing the art for our profiles!”

“Oh really?” Yennefer asked, staring hard at Geralt, who was staring really hard at his pancakes. Poor Geralt, so embarrassed in the presence of his crush/ex. It was endearing.

Jaskier patted Geralt on the shoulder. For support.

Geralt looked at him like he was going to skin his cat.

“Geralt, honey, I hate to say this, but I won’t be able to join you for dinner tonight,” Yennefer said casually. “And you haven’t even taken time to explore the city yet! You’re a stranger to this place, even though you’re planning to move here soon!”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “You’re planning to move here?” he asked. “But aren’t you…wait….” He thought back to all the conversations they had about Geralt’s work and his current residence. All of them had said absolutely nothing about where he was actually staying.

“I stay at the headquarters at Kaer Morhen,” Geralt mentioned, after chewing on a piece of gristle. That was, if Jaskier remembered correctly, two cities, a countryside and a fucking long assed trail away. Geography was never his best subject. “They have rooms for me there. I …don’t go out much.”

And that was fucking sad. Fucking, fucking sad.

“I’m moving here to be nearer to my goddaughter,” Jaskier could hear Geralt continue, and fuck that was SO nice. “I’m taking this break to find a place. I can still travel for work, but I now have a reason to find a place in this city.” And Geralt paused. “It’s good to be near her.” He murmured. “She lives with her grandmother at the moment…”

And GODDAMN Geralt was not making things easier. A goddaughter? Who liked Unicorns and Geralt? And Geralt was a fucking softy? And he was straight?

Eurgh it was like the universe hated him or something.

And fuck his feelings, Geralt was a man who was clearly not interested in him.

He was not into the business of fucking around with straight boys.

Anymore.

Not the point!

“So if you can just…take him around the city in the evenings, show him the attractions and what this place has to offer… maybe even accompany him to a few apartment viewings…”

“ Yen,” Geralt spoke up. “ I am 180 years old-“

180?!

“- I can easily look for apartments by myself-“

“I believe that,” Yen said pointedly. “I also believe it would make sense if someone who knew about housing from THIS century help you.”

Yen had a point.

The 180 year old hottie built like a tank grumbled and agreed.

Jaskier had to swallow hard, like he understood.

Following a gorgeous straight man out about town and spend more time with him? Sure. Why not fuck up his crush a little more?

Chapter Text

"Nothing of what has happened so far has shown that you've done anything about this situation, Jujubee," chided Priscilla, as she placed her lute delicately on the stand in her apartment.

Or something. 

The aforementioned Jujubee, aka Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove, aka Jaskier, who was now lying face down on her couch cushions, couldn't tell. He was a miserable miser who was okay with being miserable.

To demonstrate just how miserable he was, he let out a small keen of exasperation, as muffled by the cushion. He had decided to faceplant himself there after Priscilla had asked him if he had made any headway with his man after their jam session, which they had decided was a great way to practice for an upcoming gig in a week's time. It was a great way to bond. 

Priscilla had nice cushions on her couch. 

Also it smelt nice. Considering the neighbourhood it was in, Pris had managed to make the apartment seem lovely, wide and bright. Jaskier liked that it smelt like roses. The bookshelves were crammed with books about art and music, and Priscilla's musical instruments (she played guitar, viola, and the fucking lute too, Jaskier was envious) were stored neatly next to her bed. 

Pris' house, it also turned out, had a parrot: a lovely blue Indian ringneck parakeet called Jubjub. Jaskier and the bird were mortal enemies: the first day they met, Jaskier had been wearing the shiny sequined jacket which he had gotten at the thrift store and Jubjub had taken one look at him and the shiny jacket and swooped at him. Jaskier probably didn't help matters by screaming bloody murder and making cat hissing noises. 

That had been months and months ago, of course. In fact, his first visit to Priscilla's house to jam with her had been soon after he agreed to help Geralt find a good apartment in town and show him around, which had been…

"Six months, Juju," Pris said, sitting next to the man currently sprawled on her couch. "You and your Witcher-" 

"Geralt," Jaskier corrected, voice muffled, because he was still hiding his flowery soul into the cushions. He deserved it, he was a lovely sensitive being, brimming with trembling delicacy. 

"You and Geralt have been doing this weird dance thing for 6 months, and you still haven't gotten together yet!" Priscilla waved her arms in aghast, the parrot Jubjub mirroring her motions with his wings, safely in his cage, thanks the gods. Jaskier didn't think Pris would ever forgive him if he had wrung the bird's neck in front of her. "You actually need to take action! Carpe Penis and all that! Seize the-" 

"PRISCILLA!" Jaskier yelped. "You're a known lesbian of fame! Get your head out of the gutter, I'm not seizing Geralt's ... ANYTHING!" 

Though wouldn't that be a lovely image? His hands on Geralt's perfectly stacked shoulders, used to steady himself as he lands open mouthed kisses all over the man's sculpted torso. He would pay extra attention to his nipples too, because those pecs were firm enough. He wondered how much give they would have if he bit hard enough, whether Geralt would gasp or if he would hiss in pain. Either way he would lavish lots of care on them too. Maybe with his fingers. Or his tongue. Maybe he'd give the nipple a flick, just to see if it was okay. Or a quick suck. No teeth would be involved. Or maybe just a nibble. Anything that would make him close enough to hear that great rumble of Geralt's voice run down his chest. And to see if he could make Geralt's deep growl of a voice come back when he sinks on to that hard, long deep member. And maybe kiss that beautifully plush mouth that would be bitten and abused and maybe muffle any grunts and moans and- 

"JULIAN ALFRED PANKRATZ!" Priscilla bellowed and Jaskier jerked out of his fantasy so hard he actually lifted himself off the couch and fell, disgracefully, onto the floor. Damnit, he had to remember he was still in her apartment and he was about to get hard from his stupid fantasy in front of his friend. Which you know, he often enjoyed having erections when with friends. But they were very specific friends. Beneficial friends. 

Priscilla was not that friend. So stop it. 

"You really have to stop fantasizing about Geralt and actually do something!" Priscilla scolded. "And it's not nice having a boner thinking about sex in the middle of your friend's living room-" 

" WHAT!" Jaskier balked. "Stop-what- stop accusing me of salacious rumours!" 

"Then stop being so obvious about it!" Priscilla laughed.  "In the brief half a year that I've known you, you've been in and out of flirting with at least 3 different people, only to go back to mooning over Geralt. I don't even think you've actually stopped doing so in between bouts!" She slapped him on the arm. "Also stop hogging all the pretty people, you ass. Leave some for this lesbian. She misses her girlfriend a lot cause she's out on peacekeeping missions doing good while this lesbian is here being silly and playing the lute." 

Jaskier pouted. He couldn't help that people were pretty! He was an appreciator of beautiful faces and gorgeous bodies. He could find the absolute beauty in anyone! 

Except for racists. 

And speciesists. 

And TERFs. 

And SWERFs. 

And corrupt politicians.

And no-good, talentless lute and flute players like Valdo Marx who quoted Lana Del Rey like it was his bible, who chewed with his mouth open and had the habit of walking too slowly in front of people who needed the path to get to where they needed to go QUICKLY. Like, seriously It didn’t help that he was also too loud, too showy, who talked with his hands, who exaggerated incidents that happened to him, had fantastic hair and a great understanding of music.

Yennefer, who had listened to Jaskier complain about Valdo Marx multiple times, and had met the man through a chance encounter, had asked if Jaskier and Valdo Marx were at loggerheads because they were the exact same person.

Jaskier didn’t even deign to give her an answer to that very question.

It was rude.

And not true at all.

Truth was a subjective thing.

“Pris, darling.” Jaskier whined, “ I can’t help that Geralt is a pretty man! Have you seen his eyes? They shine like-“

“Fires in a bonfire in the depths of darkness, yes, Jaskier, I’ve received the texts.” Priscilla said patiently.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly tell Yennefer!” Jaskier snapped, now feeling a bit mulish. “ I told you about this. Geralt is in love with Yen. They had a chance once and this trip is helping them be a couple again. Did you know they’re godparents to this blonde child that looks like she stepped out of a Disney cartoon? She’s 9, Pris. 9.”

“You know they’re not really an actual family, right, Juju?” Pris asked.

Jaskier groaned.

He thought he’d managed to get out of the habit of falling for emotionally unavailable men. 

"Look, Jaskier," Pris demanded, pulling a seat cushion to reveal Jaskier’s brown tousled hair. “I want proper details. What have you two been doing? How did this happen?”

How did this happen?

Geralt blinked.

“ When you said you wanted to show me the nightlife in town,” he drawled to a grinning Jaskier, who was draped on the poster board starring a naked topless man, “This was not what I was expecting.”

Jaskier winked. “I aim to please, darling,” he laughed. “ You wouldn’t enjoy my type of nightlife, and contrary to popular belief, I do know some culture and decorum.” He waved at the shining lights of the city’s art museum, which made the building look more intimidating and dark.  “I know you like art, so I figured you will like this much better!” 

He gestured to the poster he had been posing next to, advertising about how they were having an exhibition on the human form and the shapes they showed. The naked, topless man was a statue, one which Jaskier was now shamelessly fondling. It also declared that the museum was open for night visits. “They do this sometimes for dates you know," he said, waggling his eyebrows. 

Oh god he was probably giving off the wrong signals, but he concentrated on the vibe that was, "Helpful friend that was helpful in being helpful." That was the only vibe he wished to exude for any interaction he had with Geralt. He put on his best generic man dazzling smile, and smiled at his friend, before leading the man up the stairs and into the museum entrance, where he procured tickets (after a small fight with Geralt over who got to pay for them).They then started to explore the marbled halls of the arts museum. 

Geralt, it turned out, was not always a good conversationalist, but he was a great listener, and if you could discern his interest and pick him up on it, the man would direct 100% of his attention on you. He decided to chatter on about what he knew about art history, having taken up a few modules at Oxenfurt, as well as having learnt a few facts about queer artists back then (sue him, he liked learning about dramatic queer artists and the lives they led being dramatic and queer.) He pointed at art paintings and rambled on about the history, weird fun facts he had learnt about Da Vinci and his love for his apprentices and him trying to pick up a male sex worker with his friends.

 Geralt, to his credit, didn't seem to be repulsed by the amount of queer content that Jaskier was throwing at him, rather he was thoughtful, asked good questions, and gave his opinions and critique of the art, including what seemed to be his preference in art styles and mediums. Apparently Geralt was well-read on his art history as well, and it was to Jaskier's horror, when Geralt related a story about Michaelangelo's painting of a pope that had his genitals bitten off by Satan, that Jaskier realised that somehow his crush on Geralt was getting stronger. 

To quote the great Amy Winehouse, WHAT KIND OF FUCKERY WAS THIS?

Geralt was standing next to him, relaxed, his lips pursed into what could easily be a smile. His hair had been arranged into an artfully messy topknot, wearing that damn leather jacket he got at the thrift store, and the buttery soft jeans. Stretched across his chest was a plain white t-shirt that Geralt looked amazing in. And well, Jaskier could see a nipple poking through the shirt, showing how tight the shirt was.

Fuckery fuckery fuckery.

But that was not even the worst part.

Geralt had, during Jaskier's rant about Michaelangelo's lack of understanding of the female form (who makes breasts look like smuggled fruit? Michaelangelo, that’s who. No wonder he was the worst Ninja Turtle), been staring at Jaskier. The high ceilings of the museum had windows that let light in, and it looked rather romantic. Jaskier, who had eyes, was getting a little weirded out by the staring, but he would not be stopping his love hate relationship with Michaelangelo just to ask Geralt to cut it out. The man was paying attention to him, and this was a rare opportunity.

“You know a lot about these artists,” Geralt said, looking reluctantly impressed.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Respect for the visual form is something that has been drilled into my consciousness since my youth,” he explains. “My family’s produced some of Redania’s best philosophers, scientists, artists and writers. Apparently there was a great great great great great grandfather who was a bard, and performed in some of the biggest courts all over, like Cintra.” He sat down on a bench, an elegant hand raised to run through his hair.  “My father wanted me to sit for first chair viola in the Redania Metropolitan, but I just didn’t want to perform at that level. I wanted to learn from bottom up, and not in the classics. It's not something that will fulfill me. And I wanted to write song lyrics, and he never liked my work? It just made sense to step back from him and the family." 

 He turned to look up at Geralt, realising for the first time that the older man had some stubble coming in, as white as the hair on his head, and if he thought a clean cut square- jaw suited him, he was struck by how stubble just felt right on him, and he longed to feel the scrape of the beard as he nuzzled him down. 

Damnit, did he have a daddy kink going on? He didn't need this now. 

"It's good you have principles," Geralt said, taking a seat next to him, arms folded as he stared up a giant painting in front of him, depicting a ship coming to shore. "It's something to hold on to at this time, a good guide."  

Jaskier tilted his head in contemplation. "I suppose," Jaskier said. "You're the first person who's ever said anything nice about my principles. The usual commentator would agree that as a hippie music maker, I just want to make frivolous tunes for the masses." 

That someone was Valdo Marx, if anyone were to ask. But no one ever did. 

Which was good. No one should ever have to ask about Valdo Marx. 

Asshole. 

Geralt was silent, and then Jaskier remembered that Witchers never had the chance to even consider making frivolous music, or bake, or garden, or even indulge in a little gaming amongst friends.  Witchers didn't have the chance to make friends beyond their schools. Despite it being a good two decades into the 21st century, people still feared Witchers, despite all the work they did. Geralt probably never had a chance to go on the Internet and make anonymous chatroom friends. 

Did he even know how to Internet? This seemed like an important question. 

But he decided to ask something else. 

"Okay so," Jaskier turned to look at Geralt, grinning slightly. "If you had a chance to do something completely different, completely new from witchering, what would it be?" 

Geralt's brow furrowed and Jaskier realised with growing horror that maybe it was an insensitive question. Witcher children didn't have a choice, and from what he'd learnt most of them were orphans or Child Surprises. He had basically asked a drowning man if he would like blue life preservers or pink ones if he had a chance to turn back time and pick them out for the ship instead of spending the preserver money on shrimp cocktails. 

But before he could open his big mouth mouth to apologise, inevitably fuck up and get sucked into a black hole made from his own embarrassment, Geralt replied. "I didn't mind studying," he rumbled. "Maybe history. I like horses too." That confession was a little more bashful. "Something with horses. That would be...nice."  

Jaskier perked up. Having been a bit of a horse-girl back in the day (anyone could be a horse-girl, fuck those who told him his dreams were irrelevant to his gender), he knew that horses and Witchers tended to have a special connection, especially since they travelled the road a lot. Geralt had, in the beginning, gone around with a horse for a while, but then around the early 20th Century, he had started using and operating a motorcycle for his own travels. Being a sentimental man (Jaskier's words, not Geralt's), he named his bike after his horse, Roach, and summarily all bikes he had were named after her. But clearly he missed having an actual horse around.

"So, like a ranch?" Jaskier asked.  He could picture it, Geralt with a hat, plaid, tight jeans and cowboy boots looking gloriously corn-fed and riding a horse. He would look ravishing devoured on a haystack. 

To Yennefer. 

Yes. 

He was thinking on behalf of Yennefer. 

Yennefer might like horses. Or doing it on the back of a horse. Or a unicorn. 

"Hm," Geralt grunted, which sounded like assent on his part. 

"Ranches with horses are nice," Jaskier grinned. "My dad made all my siblings ride horses, and most of them hated it except me." He pointed to a painting of a stuffy military man on a white horse. "That was like mine," Jaskier announced. "He was Pegasus, but I called him Peggy for short. Dad hated that." 

Geralt was looking at him silently, and Jaskier tried to reassure him, cause Geralt's eyes held a slight look of pity on them? And Jaskier didn't like that. "To be fair it wasn't the first time the Earl de Lettenhove was disappointed in me!" He tried to placate. "Dad and I just never got along!" 

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "Your father is the Earl de Lettenhove?" He asked. 

Jaskier nodded. 

Geralt took time to absorb that information. Then he nodded at Jaskier. " You make a lot more sense now." 

Jaskier couldn't help it. He giggled. And he could see Geralt having the faintest traces of mirth in his eyes. 

" Wait, your dad is the Earl…" Priscilla asked, back in the present day. Her tone was horrified, and yet understanding. "This explains so much about you!" 

"I don't want to talk about it, Prissy." Jaskier groaned. He'd decided not to bury himself in the couch cushions, preferring to drape himself across it instead while retelling that story. 

"But then, that was a cute story!" Pris cooed. "A date in a museum! You could show off how smart you were, and he's smart too, and then you sat and talked under the canopy of stars!" 

"He's a taken man," Jaskier repeated. "Even if Yen doesn't know it. And he's straight. You know how it is to pine after straight folks." 

"That's sad but true, Juju," Priscilla relented, reaching over to rub his shoulder in consolation. Jaskier rolled around to lay his head on his chest. Cause. Cuddles. He needed them.

"But hang on," Pris frowned. "You've been out with him tons of times besides that! What about house hunting?" 

"Geralt, Geralt, come on!" Jaskier called out from where he was, on the second floor of a lovely brownstone building. Geralt was, for some reason, hesitant to enter the house. In fact, he was standing outside the small gate, looking up at the windows with an inscrutable expression which Jaskier was. But that was fine, Jaskier thought. That was why Jaskier was here in the first place. Real estate agents did think twice before even considering letting a Witcher buy a house, for fear of the resale value dropping. But Geralt apparently had good credit, he was willing to place roots here, so here he was, buying a house.

And this, as Jaskier had helpfully circled across the newspaper two days ago, was a nice house! It had hardwood floors, beautiful bay windows, and it overlooked a small garden next to the front gate.

Even the wallpaper was gorgeous, could it be antique? He always liked an antique wallpaper! 

“I think this would be perfect for you and your husband,” gushed the real estate agent, a woman who was apparently named Marilka. “It’s good to raise children, and it’s in a good neighbourhood, with great schools nearby!”

Jaskier, blushing, tried to reassure Marilka that as a good upstanding, he was not planning to bring children into the world until he actually had a good spouse in mind, one that was not Geralt because Geralt was straight as an arrow and also Jaskier was not actually dating Geralt cause that road only led to madness, when Geralt walked in.

“The grate,” he began. “What’s behind it?”

Marilka tilted her head. “Grate?” she repeated, looking confused, yet her shifty eyes gave her away. 

Jaskier, who was not interested in grates, was trying his best to figure out ways to distract Marilka the nice real estate agent from his non-existent marriage to Geralt, which was non-existent and very much not existing. So he was not interested in Geralt and the real estate agent being locked in what seemed to be a battle of wills enfolded in a staring competition.

In fact, as Marilka chose to turn to Jaskier and say, “Why not come to the bathroom and see some of the old art-deco furniture touches in there?” Jaskier near bolted down the hall just to hide his blush from the bigger man, and went to afore-mentioned bathroom to wash his face and calm down. 

What was happening to him? He groaned as he stared down his reflection in the mirror above the sink, a large, gold frame encircling the beautiful silver glass. He kept flushing with no reason, thinking about Geralt and, and SETTLING DOWN WITH HIM?

House hunting was making things worse. And this was merely the first house they visited!

He forced himself to take some time to refrain from joining Geralt back at the room, choosing to explore the bathroom, and then the rest of the house instead. He liked exploring old houses, despite himself, and the furniture that still adorned the rooms was absolutely beautiful.

Like the gold clawed foot bathtub for example! How beautiful! Porcelain and clean! The windows could have done with a good cleaning, and maybe replacing, there seemed to be scratches on the surface, which Jaskier attributed to the wear and tear of having such an old house.

And then there was the closet in the second master bedroom, which was made of sturdy, dark oak! Jaskier particularly liked the little door located at the back of the closet, which revealed a second, smaller tidier hiding spot. You could hide all sorts of things there, and Jaskier figured that a Witcher like Geralt would appreciate a spot like so.  It was big enough to conceal a small child in there.

Though he wasn’t able to explore all the rooms by himself, which was sad really. How else would he be able to see if the room worked with what Geralt was looking for? But a locked door was a locked door. Admittedly, three padlocks and locks seemed a little excessive, but Jaskier wasn’t here to judge on people’s life choices.

Well, maybe a little.

He was petty as hell by nature!

Having become more reassured about his wonderful personality, he turned his head and went back to the room he’d left Geralt and Marilka.

He opened the door. “Geralt, Marilka, you must see this-“

A piercing shriek rang in the air.

Geralt whirled around to meet Jaskier, still holding on to the bald, long-nosed and yellow-eyed short monster thing that was currently wearing Marilka’s red blazer jacket. The monster, which Jaskier realised was an actual Doppler, turned its head to meet his eyes too.

“Jaskier!” Geralt growled. “Was that necessary?”

Jaskier stopped screaming only to turn a baleful eye towards the both of them. “Excuse me for having emotions that express shock and horror, you brute!” he screamed, waving his hands at the general…everything of the Doppler currently being held on to. "Where’s our real estate agent? Why is there a Doppler? How is it still wearing that atrocious red blazer?!”

The Marilka Doppler rolled its eyes, and so did Geralt, “Is he always this excitable?” asks the Marilka Doppler in Marilka’s voice, conversationally, as it turned its head to meet Geralt’s own yellow eyes.

“More so,” Geralt grumbled. If Jaskier weren’t so worried, he would have been more offended. “He hasn’t met many before, so please excuse him.”

“Stop being so chummy!” Jaskier screeched. “What on earth is happening?!”

Geralt sighed. “If it would stop you from yelling more,” he rumbled. “ Marilka here isn’t the actual real estate agent-“

“Well, that answers several questions that I clearly didn’t need once I saw that our blonde cheery woman was no longer here!”

“She’s actually a Doppler who was training under a real estate agent before they found out she was a Doppler and no one would give her any experience or training afterwards.”

The Doppler in effect laughed. “I’m actually really sorry about tricking you, but then again I didn’t realise there would be a Witcher in today’s showing,” she said. Geralt let go of her blazer and she brushed it off her shoulder. “The appointment was booked by a Julian Alfred Pankratz, and I figured that if I could prove myself and sell a house to some posh prat-“

“Hey!”

“- I could get my real estate license, and then show those humans!” Marilka the Doppler finished. “It’s hard to make a living in this century without resorting to murder and impersonation! All I have to show for is my face!” And she shifted into copies of Lady Gaga, Dwayne Johnson, and Geralt before she shifted into an exact copy of Jaskier. The two Jaskiers surveyed each other with trepidation and scrutiny before one of them relaxed. “It happens to be my moneymaker, you know,” said the other Jaskier, pouting. 

Jaskier wanted to desperately ask many things, namely if that was actually how his voice sounded when he was pouting cause damn, he sounded weak and wanting. But of course, Geralt had to be all sensible. "Where's the real Marilka?" He asked. 

Now that he mentioned it, it made sense to ask this. Dopplers didn't mimic made up people, they had to make contact with the person in order to mimic them. Geralt explained that they could easily meet someone once and mimic them for a quick deception, but a brush or even a touch on the shoulder could get them access to memories.

“Buried in the garden.” DopplerMarilka said, still wearing Jaskier’s face. “She died around 15 years ago. I think.”

Geralt was tightening his hold on the doppler’s terrible red blazer and Real Jaskier was panicking. “ I mean, don’t kill her now-”

“I didn’t touch her!” DopplerMarilka said, raising her hands in protest. “I came across this house in the rain ages ago and it was abandoned, and I found her remains in the closet-”

Flashes of the closet with the small hiding spot flew through Jaskier’s mind. He could feel his blood drain from his face in horror.

“ And well, she deserved a proper burial, she was stinking up the room...so I ...well.” DopplerMarilka shrugged. “ I assumed her identity, cleaned up the place. And dopplers can’t exactly own property and I needed a place to stay and-”

Geralt released her blazer and ran a hand over his face. Jaskier was now facing a moral dilemma. Any normal person would have called the police. But he wasn’t going to evict a doppler just because she clearly wanted a way to earn a living. Fuck nope. And well, he wasn’t going to do anything terrible when she was still wearing his face.  (Why was she still wearing that blazer?) But he had no idea how Geralt was going to react. He was a witcher, right? Witchers usually believed in the code of righteousness. Geralt was rather unyielding at a Witcher. He’d once told off Jaskier for succumbing and buying coffee from a Starbucks because of their shitty coffee and their racism. “Evil is evil, Jaskier,” Geralt told him solemnly. 

He hoped Geralt could see him shaking his head and pleading No. His lips formed soundless prayers, hoping Geralt would do the impossible and let her go-

Geralt sighed. “Are you planning to murder anyone?” he asked.

DopplerMarilka blinked Jaskier’s cornflower blue eyes. “No,” she said.

“Will you be preying on humans?” 

“Only on their gullibility, to sell houses!”

“Will you be assuming anyone else’s identity for mischief?”

“My criminal days are over, I promise!” DopplerMarilka swore, raising a terrible-felt red blazered arm in the Scout’s salute. Jaskier had no idea if dopplers could join the Scouts, but apparently this one did. Or had doppler-ed a kid who joined the Scouts.

Geralt pondered over this before he sighed. He released his hold on her blazer.

DopplerMarilka brushed down her blazer and transformed back into Marilka and Jaskier had to shudder. Watching himself turn into a blonde milkmaid of a real estate agent was weird. She’d promised to not sell houses to anyone until she actually got a real estate’s license, then gave the name of an actual real estate agent that could help, and they left her house.

Jaskier bumped shoulders with Geralt as they walked back to his apartment. “So." 

"Mn," grunted Geralt, which Jaskier was now easily interpreting it as, "Go on you smexy animal." (His words, his interpretation!) 

"You didn't get the house," said Jaskier. 

"Mn," continued Geralt, which he interpreted as,"Well spotted,young handsome music man." 

"You found a Doppler,"Jaskier continued. 

"Mn,"Geralt continued. You are right, and that floral print on the shirt you're wearing would age anyone else but you, and your clavicles are striking today, Jaskier. 

"And you let her go," Jaskier finished. 

"She didn't hurt anyone." 

"She's assuming someone else's identity and you did have your hands around her terrible blazer," Jaskier countered. "Will this go against your Witcher path?" 

"She-" Geralt paused before he sighed. "I thought she was, she explained herself, but then she made a few remarks that I thought threatening, and so I confronted her, she corrected herself, then you arrived- we wanted to make sure you didn't find out she was a Doppler." 

Now that was a shocker. "What?" Jaskier asked, frowning. 

"You were… nice," Geralt continued. "Marilka didn't want you to think badly of her. You didn't." He looked at Jaskier and Jaskier nearly flinched at the way he seemed...fond? 

"I... didn't do anything." He muttered. "It wasn't my call." 

"But you didn't call me to kill her or anything." Geralt said. "When I let her go you were grateful. Your scent changed there. You were relieved and you were sympathetic. Once she confirmed she wouldn't harm us, you clearly wanted her to go." 

Jaskier... didn't know how to react to that. But he tried anyway. 

"You can...SMELL ME?!" 

"And then the whole night devolved from there," Jaskier finished. "Basically Geralt didn't realise I didn't know Witchers could smell changes, I started panicking about whether he could smell me when I was horny, and thus we started this whole, 'You go first!'  and 'Allow me' and then we sorta just...left-"

Priscilla was a traitor and just laughed and laughed. 

Jaskier was beginning to wonder about the choice of friends he had in his life. 

"Oh you big baby," Priscilla teased. "So worried that people would know you have boners in inappropriate places." 

"That's crass, oh my Melitele-"

"Heart-boners then," Priscilla corrected, and really it was just so weird to hear the woman he thought was a gentle soul use the term,'heart-boners' so cavalierly. Musicians could never be underestimated. He aspired to achieve that energy in his daily life. "We need you to focus." She pointed a finger at him. "You,"she declared," Have a heart boner for the big strong Witcher man!" 

Jaskier did not reply. 

"And you," she said, in a grand declaration of drama that a bard of yore would have approved. "also want to climb this man like a pine tree. Because you love to pine." 

Jaskier still didn't reply. 

"What's stopping you from declaring your love for this guy?" She demanded. "And don't tell me it's cause he likes Yennefer." 

Jaskier sighed. 

So sue him, if Geralt could smell it when he was horny, he was going to get down with it, maybe even have some fun in the meantime. 

So why, Jaskier thought dully as he waved goodbye to his newest conquest on Grindr, a barrel-chested man with dark blonde hair, hazel eyes and a butt to bounce a quarter off, aka Hugh G Rektion on Grindr, was he feeling so dull? 

Was it not the sex he needed? He was so sure if he got a few good fucks in, it would loosen the tension he had felt in his heart.

Instead, he was feeling, dare he said, uninspired? 

Goddamnit he was a smart man, he should know better than this by now! 

Instead, thought Jaskier as he curled up miserably on his couch wearing a giant loose sleepshirt one of his exes left behind (read: stolen), and his glasses, pulling up a pint of Ben and Jerry's and switching on his television to start watching shows on Netflix, he was nothing but a dumb. 

A giant, good for nothing dumb dumb. 

He was just so miserable that there was no way-

The door knocked loudly and Jaskier nearly fell off the couch in surprise. Thank god he was still holding on to his ice cream pint or that would have been another disaster entirely. 

He sent the carton down and trudged his way towards the door, opening it to find Geralt of Rivia looking at him with wariness that gave way to concern. 

"I thought your date left," and Jaskier could almost hear the weird stress Geralt gave that word, 'date'. 

"He did," said Jaskier, waving around at his general well-being that was about to be the trademark of Alone Forever!Jaskier. "He left. Just like everybody does." He didn't want to make eye contact with Geralt, for fear of probably bursting into tears. Instead, he walked back to his couch to pick up his ice cream pint again. "What are you doing here, Geralt?" He asked wearily. "I'm sorry, if you wish to go out for dinner or if you want to plan another house visit that does not involve any more supernatural creatures, it can't be today, I have need for respite!" 

He knew he might have sounded a bit harsh, but he just wasn't in the mood to be all happy and cheerful in the usual Jaskier way. He just wanted to be a little more him, and stew in his sadness, maybe even watch a few shows to take his misery away.  And done, he might add, alone. 

As it turned out, that didn't translate into his scent at all. Geralt walked right into his apartment like he owned it and Jaskier, who didn't want to let his glasses wearing face get smacked by Geralt's own very inviting chest, let him. 

"I wanted..." Geralt faltered. He then gestured towards him. "I was going to make dinner." He muttered, "And I wanted to know if you wanted ...to join me." 

A blink. Then…

"Where's Yen?" Jaskier asked, a little thrown off.

"Date," was the curt reply.

Jaskier, in a flood of understanding, suddenly knew what had happened. 

Yennefer was out on a date, and Geralt was...upset. 

Fuck. Maybe it was time he and Geralt had a heart to heart talk about feelings and having them for unattainable people. Cause while the Witcher clearly had them for his ex, Yennefer had long moved on. 

And it wasn't fair to the older man, watching his date go on dates with people.  It was clear Geralt was lonely and needed help in cheering up. 

So he and Geralt cooked. Geralt made a nice meal of stew and potatoes, something Jaskier was a little worried about but he couldn't say no to a grumpy Witcher. Then, Jaskier convinced Geralt to go back next door, change into a slouchy, comfortable shirt and short combo, and they ate in comfortable silence. 

The stew was delicious. Geralt was a great chef. 

They had even brought their dishes in front of the TV where Jaskier had picked a TV series to binge on. Geralt, in a show of skill, had apparently watched this show before in its original language, and had thus understood the nuances of the language much more than Jaskier did. But Jaskier didn't mind.

 In all his past relationships, he'd never managed to have time just sitting on the couch with another, relaxing and watching television. 

And Geralt was not his boyfriend. 

But maybe, for a little while, he could pretend.

One episode passed, then two, and soon afterwards 4 hours had passed and they were already on the 5th episode.

Jaskier was enjoying himself and becoming more invested in the storyline. Unlike most dramas, this show was clearly queer-coded, and the two male leads, even if they weren't being explicit about it, were having some sort of tension that followed their every action. 

"How is it," Jaskier began, his glasses glued onto the TV as the louder, flashier main character was once again trying to catch the attention of the taller, stoic male lead, "That two people can be so in love with each other and yet not know it?" 

"It boggles the mind," Geralt said, drily. He did sound much better though, less despondent than before. In fact, as Jaskier sneaked a look at the Witcher, the tension held around his eyes seemed to loosen.

Jaskier turned his head back and watched as the loud character threw a loquat at the other male lead, who caught it and looked at the fruit like it was dirt. 

He felt warm all over. 

It was nicer than post-orgasm cuddling. 

He hadn't had that in awhile, now that he thought about it. 

Warm. 

Too warm. 

Jaskier groaned as he was rustled out of his sleep, his neck crimping in an ache at the base of his neck. He knew he was not in his bed - did he had sex with someone on the couch- but he didn’t know what was happening. He just knew that his neck was hurting, he was covered in a blanket, and his nose was buried in something sturdy and yet soft.

It smelt nice.

Reflexively, he started nuzzling into it.

Sturdy and soft and nice smelling jerked back. Jaskier frowned, grumbling softly before he properly realised that as a man struggling in life, he didn’t own anything sturdy, soft and nice. His eyes flew open to meet the amber yellow eyes of Geralt of Rivia, he of the soft t-shirt, strong arms around Jaskier’s waist, nice pecs that Jaskier had been nuzzling into, and flustered eyes.

Fuck.

He should say something.

But what?

Head empty, sleepy, confused Geralt with very pretty yellow eyes framed by thick lashes only. 

“Come here often?” was Jaskier’s reply, no energy to add any flirtation in his tone except for stark honesty. “You’ve pretty eyes.”

Geralt’s answer was a grunt, and Jaskier found himself landing unceremoniously on the floor, still entangled in the soft blanket. He yelped as he tried to get rid of the blanket but that got complicated and he wrenched himself free of the blanket and grabbed his glasses on the table, just in time to see Geralt’s large frame at the front door.

Geralt turned back to look at him, his mouth opening as though to say something before his lips tightened, his eyes screwed up in frustration, and a growl of contempt before he wrenched the door open, and stalked through the door.

The resounding slam of the wood against the door jamb was similar to the crack of Jaskier’s heart breaking into two.

“Juju,” Priscilla said softly,”He did that?”

Jaskier nodded, his heart swelling and throat tightening.

“When?” Priscilla urged, her eyes sparkling with concern and worry.

“Two days ago,” he muttered. “We’ve talked since then, but we didn’t - I mean-” He shut his eyes a little, squeezing his lids hard, because he could feel heat forming at the corners of his eyes and why was he crying? Why was he always crying over someone that didn’t love him back?

Priscilla said nothing as she reached around Jaskier’s shoulders, giving him the tightest hug ever.

Jaskier crumpled against her shorter form, and in the comforting softness of Priscilla’s embrace, he sobbed.