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Things have been… weird, to say the least.
Jaskier didn’t realize at first but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to simply ignore how strange Yennefer and Geralt have been acting.
The first time he noticed something was up was two months ago when Geralt and Yennefer essentially began a game of tug-of-war with him in the middle.
Geralt had needed him for something, then Yennefer showed up, apparently also needing him for something. Geralt had a hand wrapped around his left wrist and Yennefer’s hand was on his right one as they pulled at him, arguing over whose situation was more urgent. Jaskier didn’t exactly feel like his presence was a huge necessity in either situation but it wasn’t like he was in much of a position to protest.
It was Ciri who saved him in the end, scolding both her parents as she pulled him away.
Both of Jaskier’s shoulders were sore the next morning, and Yennefer, surprisingly enough, had decided to give him a massage. Then Geralt walked into the room and saw what was happening, glared at Yennefer, and left in a hurry. When he came back only a few moments later, he held a salve that he swore would be a lot more helpful than dainty little hands kneading at his shoulders. That sent them straight into another argument which left Jaskier feeling a lot less relaxed. He stormed out with a huff, their squabbling mercifully dying out the further he got.
Since then, things just kept happening.
Things like Geralt snarling whenever Yennefer and Jaskier joke about being married, and her grinning at him triumphantly when she thinks Jaskier isn’t looking.
Things like Yennefer muttering insults like slag under her breath whenever Geralt gets extra touchy during training and it affects Jaskier.
Things like Yennefer running a hand down his chest, only to hiss seconds later as she yanks her hand away like it’s been burned before turning to glare at Geralt’s retreating figure as he whistles into the air.
Things just won’t stop happening, and Jaskier… Jaskier has never been so confused in his life.
—
Jaskier releases a relieved sigh as he sinks into the hot springs underneath Kaer Morhen.
His body hurts, which isn’t exactly unexpected after a day of training with Lambert. One would think that he’d be used to it by now but it’s like the bastard purposefully makes each session more challenging than the last. Jaskier knows it’s meant to be helpful— well mostly, because he’s aware that sometimes Lambert is actively trying to be a dick— but fuck, he’s only human.
The one thing that gets him through training with Lambert is the knowledge that at the end of the day, he’ll find sanctuary in a lovely and peaceful bath.
Jaskier ducks his head under the water to wet his hair, and when he pushes his head back up to the surface, he’s nearly frightened right back under when he sees Geralt standing a few feet away.
“Fuck, don’t startle me like that.”
The witcher grins, looking amused, “would have thought after all the time you’ve spent traveling with me, you wouldn’t scare so easily.”
Jaskier rolls his eyes at the statement; they both know how unlikely that is, though he has become a tad more badass over the past decade.
“Mind if I join you?” Jaskier shrugs, gesturing with his hands in a way that says be my guest.
Jaskier doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing the man naked. It’s always equal parts a blessing and a curse. The blessing of it all is very obvious, it’s Geralt . The curse comes from the fact that it pains him to be able to look but not touch, at least not the way he wants to. And lately, it’s been feeling like Geralt makes a game out of it. He undresses slower than he has in the past whenever Jaskier was around. It’s like he’s deliberately teasing.
Tonight, Geralt looks the bard right in the eyes as he peels off the layers. Jaskier looks away, flustered, and decides he’ll blame his reddened features on the heat of the water if it’s brought up.
He busies himself with scrubbing at his skin and sees Geralt swimming towards him out of the corner of his eyes.
“Are you feeling alright,” the older man asks once he’s mere feet away, “I watched you train with Lambert today.” That’s all the explanation he gives for his question, though Jaskier supposes that explanation is enough.
“Ah yes, well you know Lambert.”
Geralt hums in agreement, “I do.”
“It’s fine,” he reassures, “it’s about time I learn to protect myself anyway. I can’t always have you running in to save the day, can I?”
He laughs when he says it because it’s meant to be a joke, but Geralt’s features turn very serious as he moves in closer.
“What if I like protecting you?” Geralt’s giving him those eyes again, that look that makes Jaskier want to kiss him and run away at the same time. It’s too much, too intense, and keeps Jaskier yearning for something he can never truly have.
“You always did enjoy a damsel in distress,” Jaskier tells him.
Geralt rolls his eyes.
Silence falls over them as they bathe. Jaskier tries not to look too much but it’s proving to be difficult with Geralt being right there. Geralt isn’t doing much of a good job at not staring himself, so Jaskier supposes it’s alright.
When he moves away to grab one of the soaps for his hair, Geralt follows and takes it from his hand.
“Let me,” he insists before moving around to Jaskier’s back.
The heat of the water doesn’t stop chills from breaking out over his skin at first touch. The only point of contact between them is Geralt’s hands in his hair, but Jaskier feels it all over, and Gods, it feels so good.
He says as much, tilting his head back further to give Geralt more access. The witcher massages the pads of his fingers against the sides of Jaskier’s head and his eyes roll back, a low moan escaping his lips.
Jaskier can’t be blamed, he’s always had a thing when it comes to his hair. It’s almost embarrassing how easy it is to get him to come by just pulling on it once he’s nearly there. He feels like he might be right now.
“You boys having fun?”
His eyes fly open. Yennefer’s standing where Geralt had been minutes ago, a tight smile plastered on her face.
“We were,” Geralt grunts from behind him.
“Well, why don’t I join you.” She chides, and it isn't a request. She’s already beginning to remove her dress.
Jaskier has seen Yennefer bare a handful of times, and much like Geralt, he’ll never get used to this sight either.
She swims towards them slowly, eyes on Jaskier the entire time. It makes him squirm.
“Jaskier, be a doll and wash my hair for me, would you?” Yennefer leaves no room for argument as she picks up another soap and puts it in his hand. It’s not like he’d try arguing against it anyway.
Jaskier feels Geralt’s hands move down to his shoulders as he runs his hands through the mage’s soft locks of hair. Once she’s satisfied, she submerges herself into the water. Yennefer’s facing them when she comes back up, and unsurprisingly, does not thank Jaskier for the deed.
She does however blatantly ogle his chest, eyes scanning over the area appreciatively. Yennefer hums, tilting her head to the side, “all that training has paid off, it seems.”
He registers Geralt’s growling as his brows shoot up. “Thank you,” he responds. It comes off as more of a question than an answer, Yennefer seems pleased by this.
She reaches for another soap, “may I?”
“Yes,” the bard says immediately despite not being sure what he’s agreed to.
Yennefer begins washing him. Her hands glide from the sides of his neck to the center, then down his chest and across his nipples. He takes note of Geralt’s hands also beginning to move further down, as well, first working along his shoulder blades before traveling down his spine.
Jaskier notices himself growing hard and starts thinking about that one rather hideous professor back at Oxenfurt who would spit every time he talks. It doesn’t do much to will his erection away.
Yennefer bounces between maintaining eye contact as she cleans him, and letting her eyes follow her hands as they trail over the skin. He can feel that Geralt’s closer now than he was before and it’s taking everything in him to not pull them in and let them ravish him.
This is starting to feel like the beginning of a very vivid wet dream.
Jaskier watches as Yennefer’s eyes narrow into slits, her gaze landing over his shoulder instead of on him. It becomes clear that she’s looking at Geralt when Jaskier hears the man snarl.
Suddenly, Jaskier is being pulled back and forth between the two of them, and being manhandled does absolutely nothing to rid him of his erection.
“Okay, okay!” Jaskier shouts, “off! Both of you, take your hands off now!”
They do so immediately and he tries not to whimper at the lack of contact he requested.
“What was supposed to be a tranquil bath has been soiled by your neverending passive-aggressive behavior towards one another,” the bard exclaims, making sure to level them both with his glare. Yennefer glares back, and Geralt crosses his arms over his chest defensively. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go to my room and lock the door so you can’t disturb my peace in there, too.”
He swims away, leaving the two to their own devices. He doesn’t even grab his clothes out of fear that it would give them the chance to catch sight of his erection.
The moment he’s safely locked away in the privacy of his room, Jaskier wraps a hand around himself.
He groans, flashes of fucking into Yennefer while Geralt pounds into him swaying him into a quick release.
—
There’s a hat on his bed.
It’s a deep purple with a wide and extravagant brim that’s slightly wavy. There’s a slim gold lining around the base that has a small gold obsidian star attached at the center. It’s stunning.
“Do you like your gift?”
Jaskier turns to face Yennefer who’s standing at the doorway.
This is usually the point where he’d make a joke. She’s giving him an honest Gods gift , their friendship has never had space for such… intimacies.
The joke is at the tip of his tongue, his lips stretching into a smile until he takes in her form.
She seems nervous. Her face looks stern, but she’s biting her lip. She has her hands clasped in front of her, but her fingers twitch. The thought is almost laughable because Yennefer of Vengerberg doesn’t get nervous, but Jaskier recognizes the signs.
His smile melts into something fonder, something more serious and less playful. “I love it.”
Jaskier can see her relax, shoulder’s lowering and chest widening on an exhale.
“Good.” She stands there for a moment longer, then smiles the way she had when they first saw one another again after the mountain. It’s as unexpected now as it was back then.
She walks away without another word.
Jaskier turns back to the hat and lifts it, heart thrumming as his fingers dance over the velvet.
—
It’s only a day later when Geralt approaches him in the hall.
Jaskier slows in his tracks when it becomes clear that the witcher is intentionally moving towards him.
Geralt has this determined look on his face that visibly melts the closer he gets. By the time he gets to Jaskier, he looks more anxious than anything. It worries the bard.
“Geralt,” he greets, sure to keep his voice mellow.
Geralt opens his mouth, closes it, then frowns. Jaskier frowns too.
He opens his mouth again, gets as far as, “I–” before he stops again. The witcher glares at the ground, fists clenched at his sides.
“Geralt,” Jaskier repeats as he steps closer, “are you alright?”
The older man looks up at him, eyes much warmer now than they were when he was looking at the ground. He lifts one of his hands and opens it.
He holds a necklace in his palm. It’s a silver chain with a wolf attached, one that matches Geralt’s medallion exactly, except smaller.
Jaskier stares at the necklace longingly then looks up at Geralt to see the man already watching him, searching for his reaction.
“Is this for me?” His voice croaks when he asks, throat suddenly too dry.
Geralt nods once.
He takes the necklace from the witcher’s palm and holds it in both of his own, “it’s beautiful.”
When he looks at Geralt again, he notices that they’re close enough that he wouldn’t have to lean too far forward for their lips to meet.
Jaskier doesn’t get the chance to entertain the thought because Geralt’s gone a moment later, leaving the bard alone in the hall.
It’s fine, he probably wouldn’t have had the courage to do it anyway.
—
Jaskier wears the hat the next time he performs for Ciri, Yennefer, Geralt, and the other witchers. The only time he gets dressy at Kaer Morhen is when he plays as their entertainment for the night, so the hat fits perfectly for the occasion.
Yennefer beams when she sees it.
Jaskier wears the necklace every day, much like Geralt does with his pendant, except Jaskier’s is usually hidden beneath his clothes.
Still, Geralt’s eyes soften whenever he catches sight of the chain peeking beneath the collar of Jaskier’s tunic.
—
A bowl of stew with a big chunk of bread is set in front of him, followed by Yennefer sliding in beside him on the bench.
He blinks at the food, then at her, “did you poison this?”
She glared at him. “Just for that question, I might.”
Jaskier grins. “I’m only teasing,” he tells her as he picks up the spoon, “but I must say, you’ve been rather pleasant these last few weeks. First the massage, then bathing me, gifting me a lovely hat, and now feeding me. If things keep going like this, I might start getting the wrong idea.”
Yennefer’s silent for a moment. Jaskier doesn’t take note of the silence until he stops eating long enough to catch her stare.
The mage doesn’t avert her gaze, even knowing she’s been caught. “Maybe I want you to,” she says softly.
For a moment, it feels as though his heart has stopped beating completely. He’s frozen in place, able to do nothing other than look at the woman before him. Her eyes bore into his like she’s expecting a response. She probably is, but Jaskier has not a single clue of what he should say to that.
He’s saved from having to figure it out when Geralt takes a seat at his other side.
“Why hello,” he drawls pleasantly.
The witcher hm’s in acknowledgment before placing an apple in front of Jaskier’s bowl of stew.
Jaskier gasps. He picks up the fruit, knowing the way he’s gawking at it probably makes him look ridiculous. “How on earth did you find an apple?”
Geralt shrugs, and of course, does not offer an answer to the question.
Jaskier finds that he doesn’t care as he bites into the fruit, taking much satisfaction in the crunch it makes as his teeth sink into it.
“Thank you, Geralt,” he says as he nudges the man lightly.
“Hm.”
“As talkative as always, Geralt,” Yennefer chimes in.
Geralt rolls his eyes at the remark. “I think you talk quite enough for the both of us.”
Jaskier pretends he doesn’t notice the two scowling at each other as he silently eats his food.
—
Weird seems to become a part of Jaskier’s life that he has to accept. He doesn’t attempt to fight it when Geralt and Yennefer act bizarrely.
Like, the time he mentioned being thirsty and suddenly had two different cups of water being shoved in his face. He didn’t ask any questions, just thanked them both and drank both goblets of water.
There was also that time Geralt walked in on Yennefer giving Jaskier a scalp massage and the witcher took that as a sign that he should be massaging Jaskier’s hands. The bard completely ignored the very obvious tension in the room between Geralt and Yennefer and kept his eyes closed as he hummed a tune, basking in the random, but very much welcomed, attention.
Jaskier didn’t even bother questioning it when he walked in on both Yennefer and Geralt making his bed, fluffing three new pillows that weren’t there when he left, and patting down animal furs that also weren’t there when he left.
Even now, with both Geralt and Yennefer in his space as he tries to cook for everyone in the keep, he mentions nothing. He doesn’t usually like people being in the kitchen with him, it messes with his process, but neither of them seems willing to leave so he lets them help. Yennefer cuts ingredients and Geralt passes him spices.
Jaskier even lets the mage taste the rice he’s cooking. Instead of taking the spoon from him as he expected her to, she leans forward and wraps her mouth around the utensil that’s still in his hand, licking her lips rather lewdly after she swallows. It leaves Jaskier gaping like a fish.
Upon hearing a low growl from beside him, Jaskier fills the spoon with rice again and turns to hand it to Geralt. Geralt does nothing until Jaskier thinks he gets the message and brings the spoon closer. Like Yennefer, the witcher leans forward to taste the food. Unlike Yennefer, Geralt releases a throaty groan when he swallows. Jaskier feels his cock twitch in his trousers.
Then comes the glaring contest that they always seem to have nowadays whenever Jaskier’s around. It only distracts him further so he shoos them both out of the kitchen.
Jaskier doesn’t think he’s ever seen two people who have sex regularly hate each other this much.
—
It takes Jaskier getting sick for Yennefer and Geralt to get along in his presence.
They might have made a challenge out of taking care of him, he thinks. Perhaps if he weren’t so frail in his current state.
They don’t, and Jaskier is grateful for it. They feed him soup and bring him tea. Geralt reads to him while Yennefer strokes his hair, and Yennefer hums his ballads while Geralt runs a soothing hand over his back.
When Jaskier starts feeling better, they bathe him. It’s not like the last time. This time, their touch remains gentle from start to finish.
After, they both hold him close like they’ve been doing every night for the last week. The three of them snuggle on the massive bed of his room as if they’re all meant to be there together.
Perhaps they are.
—
Jaskier rounds up all the ingredients he can find to bake them a simple cake in thanks.
Yennefer offers him a bright smile and he swears he sees Geralt’s eyes go glassy.
—
Things go back to normal after a few days. Well, their new version of normal any way, with all the touching and the glancing and the rather suggestive remarks.
Jaskier is beginning to think he might actually die from the combination of blue balls and a confused heart.
—
It all comes to a head on an unassuming Wednesday night.
“Oh for the love of Gods,” Lambert exclaims as he slams into Jaskier’s suite, “what is wrong with you?!”
Jaskier lowers his notebook to stare at the very angry-looking redhead and cocks a brow. “I don’t think I’m the one who just stormed into another person’s room in an unnecessary fit of rage, but please, continue.”
Lambert looks like he wants to strangle him.
“Geralt and Yennefer are in love with you, you insufferable little shite,” the pitcher barks, “and I know you feel the same way about them, and I speak for everyone in this keep when I say we are tired of this game of cat and mouse between you three. It’s the most extensive foreplay any of us have ever witnessed. Now, if you don’t do something about it soon, I will make it my personal mission to make sure you don’t make it out of our next training session with all your limbs intact!”
Lambert turns away sharply and leaves as quickly as he came in, retreating footsteps stomping down the hall as Jaskier stares at the space he stood only seconds ago.
What the fuck?
—
It takes Jaskier about thirty minutes of pacing around his room before he makes a decision.
—
He finds them in Yennefer’s room.
“Lambert says you two are in love with me!” He cries out as he barges into the room, much like Lambert had done earlier.
Geralt looks up at him from where he’s laid out shirtless on her bed, and Yennefer looks at Jaskier’s reflection in the mirror she’s facing.
“Well, hello to you too, Jaskier,” Yennefer greets at the same time Geralt says, “does he, now?”
“No,” he bellows, “no, none of that! No deflecting! I need to know if it’s true.”
Things were easier when he had not a single clue why they were acting the way they were, but now that does have a clue, Jaskier feels like he might burst into tears at any moment if he doesn’t get some level of confirmation.
Yennefer turns in her stool and simply stares at him for a moment. “After all the hints we’ve thrown at you it took Lambert telling you for you to come to that conclusion?” She almost looks offended by this.
“Well you,” Jaskier begins, pointing an accusatory finger at her, “are usually much more forthcoming about your feelings, and you,” he points the same finger at Geralt who raises his brows, “tend to run away from the very idea of feelings. So excuse me if it took me a while to realize that either of you wanted me!”
Now, Yennefer does look offended. So does Geralt.
“Don’t look at me like that. You two have been acting like lunatics these last few months and I had not a single clue what was going on and then I find out from Lambert, of all people, that you’re in love with me? What’s up with that?” Jaskier thinks he might look a little crazy. He certainly feels crazy.
“We didn’t want to scare you off.” It’s Geralt who says it and it makes Jaskier want to laugh. Decades of running after Geralt as he chased monsters and the witcher thinks that this, of all things, would be what finally did him in.
“I’m… not easy to be with,” Geralt continues, “and Yennefer is definitely not easy to be with.” The mage glares daggers at Geralt for the comment, so Jaskier keeps his agreement to himself.
“We’re… a lot. But we both wanted you and didn’t know if you wanted us in the same way,” he explains, “so, we decided to see whether or not you’d want either of us individually. If you wanted to be with one of us and only that one person, the other would just have to be okay with that.”
“Admittedly, we got a bit carried away,” Yennefer adds, not looking even slightly remorseful about it.
“A bit,” he mutters under his breath. The look they give tells him that they heard it anyway. “Why didn’t you guys just say something?”
“Because you prefer people using actions rather than words to express how they feel about you.”
Yennefer’s right, because of course she is. He hates that, it makes him frown.
“Could’ve still said something,” he accuses half-heartedly.
They both give him a flat look that screams really? and Jaskier deflates immediately.
He steps closer to the bed, skin heating up at the realization that their eyes have yet to leave him. “For the record, I am madly in love with you both. I have been for… well, an embarrassing number of years. I thought the endless number of ballads made that very clear.”
“No, Jaskier, they didn’t. Perhaps you should also take a lesson on being more forward about your feelings.” Yennefer suggests, judgment clear in her tone of voice despite it dripping honey.
He opens his mouth to speak, but whatever words were about to come out died immediately at the challenging tilt of her head.
“Yen…” Geralt says, “no intimidating him into submission.”
Yennefer gasps, bringing a hand to the center of her chest, “I’ve done no such thing.” She looks at Jaskier and smirks as she gives him a seemingly thoughtful once over, “not yet, anyway.”
Jaskier nearly falls to his knees right then and there. “So… where do we go from here?”
Yennefer and Geralt look at each other, then back at him.
“Well,” Yennefer says, “you can start by shutting the door.”
He does.
—
They fuck him like they’re still fighting over him.
There isn’t a single patch of skin on his body that’s left unappreciated under their touch. He’s kissed and licked and fucked within an inch of his life and it leaves him breathless and sobbing.
Then, when he feels like he can’t take it anymore, they work together to slowly take him apart before making him whole again.
Jaskier loses track of the number of times he cries out I love you that night.
—
Surprisingly enough, the first thing he notices when he wakes up the next morning aren’t the two witchers standing over the bed.
No, the first thing he notices is how fucking sore he is. It’s a good kind of sore though, so he doesn’t mind. Then, Jaskier notices how good Geralt’s hair smells as he nuzzles his face deeper into the man’s neck. Then, he takes notice of Yennefer’s arm still wrapped around his waist.
Then , he notices Lambert and Coën standing by the bed looking pleased by the scene before them.
Jaskier screams, and it wakes both Geralt and Yennefer.
“Well, well, well, it took you three long enough to get it together and get together,” Lambert says smugly to which Coën cackles.
“I’m going to kill you both,” Geralt hisses, and if they didn’t have an audience, Jaskier might have just gotten an erection from the sound of his morning voice. Truthfully, he might get one anyway.
And as if things couldn’t get any worse, Ciri comes waltzing into the room.
“I heard screaming, what happ… ened…” She trails off as she takes in the sight in front of her, and then she’s the one screaming, hurrying out of the room as she cries out Ew! Ew! Ew! over and over again.
Lambert and Coën do look like they feel slightly guilty after that, but it doesn’t stop Geralt from pouncing on them.
“Don’t you just love it when our boyfriend defends our honor?” Yennefer asks, snuggling in closer to him.
Jaskier does love it, but he loves the way our rolls off her tongue more.
It’s a lovely reminder that he is theirs and they are his.