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dapandapod · 1 year

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Living with a thief

So! I... found another one... Unpublished but beta read( Thank you Frank!!) in.. uh... october... xD whoops.

Anyway, please enjoy, this suited me very well today because i am very cuddly and snuggly and in need of soft things because of a shitty shitty day, so uh... Enjoy? <3

On Ao3 here

Hoodie stealing has always been Jaskier's thing. More than once he stole Geralt's hoodies, and more than once he was told to buy his own.

So he did. The same size as Geralt's because, obviously, it is the superior size.

But, obviously, it is not the same.

So Jaskier stole Geralt's hoodie again, and his own lies forgotten in his room.

For good and for bad though, two persons sharing the hoodie supply makes for more laundry, and laundry boring. Incredibly boring. They are down to their last two hoodies when Jaskier spills his glass of orange juice over the table and onto Geralt's lap, and they are down to one.

They eye each other over the table, Jaskier shaking his head slowly.

"You are not getting it back," He warns, chewing slowly on his overly sweetened cereal.

"It's mine," Geralt reminds him.

"May be so, but I am clearly wearing it, and unless you are planning evil deeds to my person to make me undress, I am keeping it."

For a moment, it looks like he is considering it. Jaskier himself is still a little distracted by the thought of Geralt undressing him, his cheeks heating as he is being studied, when Geralt stands up, chair scraping.

He disappears around a corner, and Jaskier decides he has won. The orange juice is still floating ominously on the ta ble, so Jaskier unfolds from the pretzel position on his chair, but almost falls off when Geralt returns.

Wearing the hoodie he, Jaskier himself, bought, that was buried somewhere in his horizontal closet (the floor).

His foot gets hooked behind his knee, and Jaskier has to stabilize himself by slapping a hand right into the orange juice puddle on the table before his face makes a close acquaintance with the floor.

It is cold and it is unpleasant and it is completely ignored, because what the fuck is his heart doing right now?

The dark navy blue hoodie fits Geralt perfectly, his hands hidden in the pocket on his stomach and his shoulders hunched up in a clear this-is-a-cozy-hoodie-pose.

"This isn't mine," Geralt says, like an idiot, Jaskier very much thinks he is an idiot, because what the fuck? It is way too early (noon) for an attempt at a flatmate's life! "Who did you steal this from?"

It is hard to form words when all Jaskier can do is open and close his mouth, half insulted half .... unidentified flutters in his chest and stomach.

Eventually he manages, thanks to the orange juice very helpfully trickling down from the table onto his exposed knee.

"You told me to get my own," He says, remembering he was mid-unfolding, and tearing his eyes away from Geralt, who looks all too comfy wearing something of Jaskier's.

Geralt hums at his back, sitting down a safe distance away from the offending orange juice and reaching for the egg he was peeling.

"You ain't getting it back," Geralt informs him calmly when Jaskier wipes the table and glares up at him.

"Thief." Jaskier complains, and Geralt, the fucker, laughs, doing terrible damage to Jaskier's insides, because that fluttering cannot be healthy. No sir.

They do laundry the next day, but Jaskier is as promised not getting his hoodie back, it seems.

Now, this presents an opportunity for an experiment for Jaskier, and some risk.

The flutters stubbornly remain unidentified when Geralt shuffles into their shared living room after a shower, in Jaskier's (Jaskier's!!!) hoodie and some sinful sweats . He looks soft and warm and cuddly and amazing and Jaskier is but a man.

Thank goodness for his already cuddly nature, because Geralt doesn’t lift an eyebrow when Jaskier launches himself over the couch the moment Geralt sits down.

They get comfortable under a blanket, and Jaskier very sneakily and discreetly sniffs when a puff of air escapes the hoodie (his hoodie) and it promptly smells like Geralt.

Rude.

"Why aren't you wearing your own hoodies?" Jaskier whines, like the hypocrite he is. "We did laundry."

"Now you know how it feels." If Geralt is feeling anyway near what Jaskier is, it is a miracle Geralt is alive. "You might be onto something though."

Jaskier glares up at him, pinching his side like the petty thing he is.

"Terrible. I'm living with a thief."

The next thing Geralt steals is not a hoodie.

It is a knitted sweater, one several sizes too big for Jaskier and therefore only a size or two too big for Geralt.

This is an attempt on Jaskier's life.

He almost swallows his tongue when Geralt struts, struts into the kitchen in it.

This time it is a black one, more in Geralt's style if you ignore the knitted part.

Once again Jaskier is struggling for words, because Geralt has sweater paws. Fucking. Sweater. Paws.

"That's mine," Are the strangled words that escape his mouth after a long moment, and Geralt gives him an eat-shit-smirk.

"Not anymore."

Thing is, Geralt looks good in it. Very fucking good.

Hiding in the newly returned (Jaskier stole it back) navy hoodie doesn't prove helpful either, because it smells like Geralt, and it is soft and even pulling the hoodie over his face to hide his flush isn't doing shit to calm the very, very unhealthy flutters of his heart, and this is the end.

"You will regret this," Jaskier threatens, dashing out of the kitchen to Geralt's great amusement.

Now this is when the experiment comes in.

Jaskier only wears like three oversized things. So far, Geralt has stolen two of those.

If Jaskier bought more, would he steal those too?

But he can't be too obvious about it.

The lady at the register gives him a look when he takes it to the counter, another hoodie in burgundy and, again, many sizes too big.

"Want me to put it in a gift box?" She asks him, but Jaskier shakes his head.

"It's for me."

Kind of.

Jaskier decides to wear it for a week, and lays the trap by "forgetting" it in the kitchen. Geralt is not a color person. He prefers the dark colors, if any at all, and dark red is... just a bit daring, even for him.

But the trap springs, and Jaskier has to reevaluate just who this trap was set for.

Because Geralt is wearing it, and he looks fucking good.

"I knew it." Jaskier says, squinting and approaching Geralt in a way that absolutely says nothing about the turmoil on his inside. Geralt in his clothes is... unhealthy. Not good.

"What?" Geralt says, like the bastard he is, playing innocent despite the faint flush dusting his stubbled cheeks. Weekends are great like that.

"You were just waiting for me to stop wearing it." Jaskier accuses, grabbing the pocket of the hoodie’s front to keep Geralt from running away.

For some reason, that has Geralt pausing, looking down (Tsk. He is not that much taller) at Jaskier like he is trying to figure something out.

"As were you." Geralt says hesitantly, in turn grabbing on to the hem of the hoodie that Jaskier is now wearing. Geralt's hoodie, that he wore last night after the shower, that Jaskier might have snagged because it smells just like him.

The trap was sprung yes, but Jaskier feels like he is the one who got caught.

"Why do you keep stealing my hoodies, Jask?" Geralt asks softly, and Jaskier feels his face heat up, all the way up to his ears. Fuck.

"Because I look great in them. And they're comfy." Jaskier manages.

"You do." Geralt takes a step closer, his hands drifting to Jaskier's elbows, holding him in place. As if Jaskier can move. As if Jaskier can breathe.

"Why are you stealing them?" He whispers, caught, trapped, stuck in the way Geralt is looking at him.

"So you would keep wearing mine." Geralt says back, just as quiet. "And because they smell good."

Oh.

"Oh."

"You never wondered why I let you?" Geralt takes a step even closer, and this is not flat mate close, this is... close-close. Socked feet touching kind of close, Geralt's hands moving to Jaskier's sides kind of close.

Jaskier shakes his head slightly, eyes not once leaving Geralt's. It's a lie.

Every time he strolled into Geralt's room, snatching one that looked the most worn, and strolled out, and Geralt didn’t stop him, he wondered.

Every time Geralt's eyes lingered on him when he would show up in them, yawning big and curled up on the couch, he wondered.

After Geralt stealing his sweaters and hoodies in turn now, he might have an inkling.

"I liked seeing you in them." Geralt whispers, leaning in even closer, their noses almost bumping.

That is when he finally has to break eye contact, because it will be his undoing otherwise. But that has the unfortunate effect of his eyes catching on Geralt's lips, and that is somehow worse, because he is smiling.

"Geralt." Jaskier whispers, feeling completely and utterly broken, barely held together by Geralt's arms.

"I think you liked seeing me in yours, too, didn't you?" Their noses are definitely touching now. Jaskier changes his grip to ground himself, and finds his hands pressed against Geralt's chest.

There is no telling who leans in first, but they meet in the middle, the first touch of lips electrifying. Jasker inhales sharply when Geralt's lips curl around his, fitting together perfectly.

He feels his toes curl in his socks, his fingers gripping the hoodie as if that is the only thing keeping him afloat. It kind of is.

There is a beat of nothing before the next kiss. A moment of stillness before Geralt kisses him again, pressing their chests together.

His lips are soft, softer than Jaskeir expected, and just a little dry. But that is quickly fixed when Jaskier sighs, melting into Geralt's hold, and his mouth opening just a fraction.

A hot hand finds its way to his lower back, under the hoodie, and it has him melting all over again.

The gurgling of the coffee maker makes reality come back, the heavenly smell of coffee reminding them where they are.

But they don't pull apart more than an inch. Jaskier can't stop looking at Geralt, and he brings his hand up to that stubbled cheek.

Geralt turns into it, kissing his palm and watching Jaskier fall apart as he does.

"What are the odds I can get you out of that hoodie?" Jaskier whispers, making Geralt chuckle.

"After coffee, significantly higher." Jaskier finds himself eyed up and down with a sly smirk that does nothing to calm him down at all. "Might keep you in mine, though." Geralt smirks before turning them and pushing Jaskier against the kitchen counter.

Oh. That's a thought.

A thought that Jaskier will hold on to after some more kisses and the morning coffee, and all the way back to Geralt's bedroom.

#no hoodies were hurt in the making of this fic #only stained by orange juice #geraskier #modern au #the witcher #getting together #fluff #geralt x jaskier #jasker thinks he is clever #he is but he falls for his own thirst traps #silly man #oh wait that was spoilers #dapanda writes

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