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“Jaskier, darling, when I suggested you should try and move on I did not mean you should arrange a date with your fucking stalker,” Essi hissed down the phone.
“Well, when you put it like that…” Jaskier shrugged, “but when have I been the best at making rational decisions, huh?”
“When your body washes up on the banks of the river tomorrow, I’m not even bothering to come to your funeral.”
Honestly, that was just plain rude. Was this the smartest decision Jaskier had ever made? Probably not. But she was his best friend! If she wasn’t going to give him a stunning eulogy who would? Geralt was only likely to grunt his way through one. Yennefer would fill it with far too many subtle insults.
“He’s not going to kill me. He seemed like a nice guy,” and he had. Maybe a little on the obsessive side, but that just showed determination. Not a bad quality in a significant other, right?
“Nobody with a name like Valdo is a nice guy,” her voice was full of exasperation, “you just think he’s a hot guy—”
And, right on cue, there was Valdo. He was a familiar figure outside of Jaskier’s apartment building these days; because…yes, alright, he sort of had been…loitering. Here. And outside the studio Jaskier recorded his music at. And outside all his gigs…
“Alright, well, he’s here now so bye Essi, speak to you tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” she muttered, but he was already hanging up and bounding his way out of the front lobby and up to the very flatteringly dressed Valdo Marx. Alright, Essi was right. He was hot. Maybe that was partly why Jaskier had agreed to all of this.
“Hey!” Jaskier put on his best grin, perfected from years of signing autographs and having to look like he wasn’t breaking inside every time he walked in on Yennefer and Geralt making out, “how’s it going?”
Valdo looked nervous, bless him, but he gave his own smile (decidedly less fake than Jaskier’s). See! Nothing scary about this guy. He was just a pretty boy who’d had the poor luck of falling for an out-of-reach celebrity. Supposedly out of reach, because Jaskier was giving him a chance tonight.
“Quite well,” Valdo played it cool, “and yourself?”
“Eh, I’ve been better. Excited for the distraction of your lovely company tonight,” Jaskier winked, just to watch the blush spread over Valdo’s features. Yep. He still had it. “Shall we head out? I’ve got a driver who’ll pick us up and take us to the restaurant.”
Valdo nodded a little too enthusiastically. Honestly, Jaskier would rather walk or take a cab, but – despite how nice Valdo was – he wasn’t sure he wanted a picture being taken and stuck on twitter of the both of them together.
“Wow,” Valdo murmured as they slid into the back of Jaskier’s car.
“Yeah, it’s pretty great, huh? Honestly, I’m still not really used to all of this—”
“Because you came from basically nothing, cut off from your parents when you started dating men,” Valdo blurted, then, “ah, sorry. I may have read a few unofficial biographies.”
Well. It is a bit weird to have one of his worst moments parroted off to him like trivia, but Jaskier waves it off anyway, “It’s fine, it’s fine. Most people seem to know me better than I know myself these days. I’m not the interesting one tonight – why don’t you tell me a little bit about you?”
Jaskier sits back to listen. And what he ends up getting is the typical story of a singer struggling to break it into the mainstream – “I have a YouTube channel – I do some covers of your songs - but it hasn’t really taken off” – he’s thinking of offering a hand with that until Valdo takes it on himself to start singing some of his original stuff.
It’s…bland. There’s little emotion in it. He’s basically picking the same four chords everyone uses with the same rubbish sentiments.
Still, Jaskier knows how hard it is when you’re first starting out, so he nods along amicably and tries not to rock the boat.
“Oh, look at me, talking away,” Valdo says, “I know you enjoy rambling, there’s that clip online of your bodyguard saying so—”
Ah, yes, that clip. He curses Geralt internally.
“—you said you’d been better. What’s up?”
Jaskier taps his fingers against his knee. “Oh, well. Nothing much. Just…” this guy is a mega fan. He should be careful what he says. But really, who’s going to read this guy's twitter and believe that he actually went on a date with Jaskier? Nobody. And he is asking. “…my friend is moving in with his girlfriend.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Valdo queries.
“No! No, of course not. Not bad at all. I’m happy for them both. They’re great people, really great. So well suited for each other you wouldn’t believe. They both have these incredible eyes, and honestly, I’m pretty sure they could kill a man with barely any effort but they’re…amazing.”
Okay, okay, he got a little ramble out. He’s supposed to be moving on. He used to be really good at this whole dating and charming thing – so no more talking about Yennefer or Geralt. This is supposed to be about getting his mind off his hopeless unrequited love for the both of them.
Except…
Except that there’s a lot of wine when they get to the restaurant. A lot of wine. He’s trying to relax with it, but maybe he relaxes a little too well because not too long later—
“And it’s like, it’s like I know that they care about me. Well, Geralt cares about me. Yennefer… probably does. But like, that’s not the point. The point is that I know they care about me. I really, really do. Just…they don’t care enough, you know? I’m selfish for thinking that, aren’t I? God, you must think I’m so selfish…”
Valdo shifts awkwardly across from him. Jaskier takes another gulp of wine.
“It’s just, I’ve been there, right there with them for years. Well before I even got famous. Only now they’re moving in together and they’ll get married and leave me all alone and fuck I just—”
“Would you like the dessert menu?” A tired-looking waiter asks.
“No, that’s quite alright,” Valdo cuts in before Jaskier can say that a tiramisu sounds lovely, “just the bill, please.”
Ah. Okay.
So. Maybe he hasn’t been very good at this whole…’date’ thing.
When he drops Valdo off, Valdo does not try and kiss him goodnight. He doesn’t even go in for a hug.
Fuck.
Well. At the very least he’s probably shaken off his stalker.
-///-
When he wakes up the next morning he’s got a pounding headache, seven missed calls from Essi, three missed calls from his PR people and a rather ominous text from Yennefer that reads simply: ‘We need to talk’.
He groans. What…what did he do last night? Nothing too bad? There’s nothing in his recollection that would suggest he was caught skinny dipping, again. The fact that he’s in his bed would suggest that he wasn’t arrested.
No, he just went on a nice date with that Valdo guy which, admittedly, turned into a bit of a dud when Valdo turned out to be pretty annoying, and Jaskier turned out unable to turn off his pining for one night while he drunkenly rambled about Yennefer and Geralt. He dropped Valdo off, then he came straight home.
So what? Did someone snap a picture of him on the date? It’s not like the public doesn’t know he’s bi. It’s fine.
He opens his phone. He doesn’t bother ringing anybody back, not yet. He just wants to go about his hangover routine: scroll twitter until he can find it in him to pull himself out of bed and go get an aspirin.
Only when he opens the app, one of the top trending hashtags is…
Oh no.
No, no, no, no, no.
“That little bitch,” Jaskier breathes, “I am going to kill Valdo Marx.”
Because there, top trending, number #6 is the hashtag #Jaskiersunrequitedlove.
The very first tweet on his page is an article entitled: Popstar Jaskier pines for hunky bodyguard and bodyguards’ girlfriend? He clicks on it with a growing sense of dread. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…
The article tells him about last nights big news. Apparently, Valdo had been living tweeting their date (how hadn’t he noticed – had he really been that drunk?). Not the whole of it, the first tweet he sent was ‘when your celebrity crush @DandelionsJaskier gives you a chance but proceeds to use you as his therapist for his fucked up love life’.
But worst of all – oh, worst of all – is that at some point Valdo got a video.
It is an awful shot. He was evidently hiding his phone so that Jaskier wouldn’t notice. But it’s very clearly Jaskier who is rambling on: “I just…I want them both to be happy. I just wish I made them happy. It’s so fucking stupid, Valdo, it’s really…oh, yeah, thanks, more wine sounds great…and I’m trying to move on. Look! I’m out on this date. But it’s so hard when they’re so perfect and I’ve been in love with them for years.”
In love with them.
He said in love with them.
On a video.
Which is now viral.
On twitter.
And Yennefer’s text—
He actually full-on jumps, dropping his phone onto the bedsheets when he hears a knock on his front door.
It could be anyone, he reminds himself, while he grabs one of his silk robes and struggles to tie it tightly around him. It could be someone from his PR team who’s pissed it’s gotten to midday without a response. It could be Essi come to tell him ‘I told you so’. It could be Lambert or Eskel come to tease him. There was any number of people who could be at that door.
And yet, Jaskier had a dreadful feeling…
He padded through to the hallway, shuffling slow to try and draw out the moment before his humiliation. The banging on the door was pretty insistent though. “I’m coming! Jeez, some of have a hangover,” he rubbed his temples. No time to grab an aspirin now.
Almost timid, he opened the door.
And there, in all their beauty, were the lovely couple themselves.
Shit.
They had no right to look so put together when he was feeling like someone had just taken a hammer to his whole life. Geralt in a button-up shirt Jaskier had bought him last Christmas and fuck, those skinny jeans that showed off his arse perfectly, Yennefer in one of her beautiful gowns she wore no matter the occasion, that framed her body just right…
He felt his cheeks heat. He couldn’t meet their gaze. “Ah. Hi.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt grunted, “you went on a date with your stalker? Without a bodyguard?”
Jaskier bit his lower lip, “um…yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “That the only reason you’re here? Reprimand me about my choice in date? Because, uh, I’ve got a bit of a hangover so maybe if you came back—”
“That is not the only reason we are here,” Yennefer stepped into the apartment without invitation, heading towards his kitchen. Fuck, she could make any room her own, couldn’t she? Jaskier was left to trail along behind.
“Sit,” she instructed, pointing at one of the chairs by the table.
Geralt poured him a glass of water and grabbed him an aspirin from the draw. Jaskier felt rather like a child being scolded as he took them. He couldn’t stop staring at the floor. Fuck, fuck.
Other than Essi, these two were the closest he had to family. And he’d gone and fucked it up. He was losing them. Nobody said ‘we need to talk’ unless they were breaking up with you, platonically or otherwise.
“So…” Jaskier trials off.
“You’re in love with us.” Yennefer finishes for him.
“Or was this some stunt for the press?” Geralt’s voice is low, and there’s something in it that Jaskier can’t quite identify. Which is weird, because he thought he was fluent in Geralt, tones and grunts and all.
“Uh…” and he could say that it was, only the lie probably wouldn’t hold for that long. Who was he kidding? He’d clearly been drunk in those videos. “Yeah. No. Caught me red-handed. I…” He winced, “I can get a new bodyguard if you’re, ah, uncomfortable.”
He doesn’t want to get a new bodyguard. He doesn’t want any of this. He should have listened to Essi and not gone on that damn date. How could he be so stupid…
“Nobody else could handle you,” Geralt muttered, after a moment. When Jaskier chances a glance up, there’s something of a smirk on his face.
“You’re in love with both of us,” and Jaskier glances over to Yennefer. Her face is carefully blank where she is stood next to Geralt, watching him.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it, fuck, I’m trying to get over it though? I mean, I went on a date yesterday, if you hadn’t realised, even if that seems like it was an absolutely piss poor decision and—”
“You’re right,” Yennefer cuts him off.
“Hmm. No more dates. Piss poor decisions.” Geralt finishes for her.
Jaskier blinks. Wait, what?
“Apparently, you date stalkers.”
“I think the term is mega-fan?”
“Stalkers,” Geralt growls, “who could have done a lot worse to you than simply reveal some embarrassing secrets online.”
Jaskier shifts in his seat awkwardly. Sounds more serious, somehow, coming from Geralt than it does coming from Essi. Probably because Geralt is actually in charge of security and so is allowed to tell him off for these things.
Yennefer moves forward and he’s not sure what he’s expecting – he’s half expecting her to slap him – which is why he’s completely caught off guard when she slips onto his lap. “I don’t think you’ll be needing to go on any random dates anytime soon though, songbird.”
Jaskier’s brain has momentarily short-circuited. If he was a cartoon character, his jaw would have dropped to the floor.
Yennefer lifts a hand to brush gently through his hair. And…there are hands on his shoulder, from behind. Large hands. Warm hands. Geralt. “What’s--?”
“I never thought you’d be interested in me, considering how much we bicker. Geralt has spent the past ten years thinking he’s not good enough for you,” Yennefer explains softly.
Geralt hums his affirmation from behind her.
“You make us happy, Jaskier. We enjoy ourselves when we’re with you. When we saw that video this morning…well, we were shocked. But it didn’t take long to figure out we were also both incredibly interested. We wouldn’t mind you joining our relationship. If you’re interested.”
Jaskier is dreaming. He is actually dreaming. It’s a vivid wine-induced dream. There is no way he is sat in his kitchen, with Yennefer on his lap and Geralt stood behind him, being told that he can join their relationship.
His mind catches up, eventually. He’s not sure how long he was dumbstruck but, “Shit, shit, yes, fuck, oh my god, really? Fucking- all my fucking songs are about you two. Most of them. Fuck, I have a song called Those eyes did you really think that wasn’t, fuck I-“
Yennefer shuts him up by kissing him.
He feels lips on his neck, too, from behind. Geralt.
“You know,” Geralt grumbles, “I always found sex is a pretty good cure for a hangover.”
“Oh, fuck yes,” Jaskier breathes.
-///-
A week later, Valdo Marx is quite enjoying his new claim to fame. Sure, it didn’t work out with Jaskier, but it turns out Jaskier is a twat. He wouldn’t have rung the man back if someone paid him. He’s annoying. Valdo can’t believe he wasted so long chasing the idiot.
He goes to collect his post. There’s a…basket waiting for him.
A fruit basket?
He blinks. Who the fuck even sends fruit baskets anymore? He digs out the note that’s stashed between a couple of pears.
Thanks for helping me get with the loves of my life.
Also, I fucking hate you.
Sincerely, Jaskier.