Chapter Text
Batshit
Chapter 1: You Think I’m Batshit
“When the soul is ready, the mate will appear.”
- Anonymous
Comic-con is one of those events that Jaskier lives for when his show is traveling for promotions. The fans, the potential bedmates, the gifts, the galore. It all boils down to praise and worship of the ground he walks on, which, in his opinion, is quite blessed.
The only downside is the possibility for stans (and his utter horrid co-star, fucking Valdo Marx who can go happily shat himself and perhaps be murdered by a hoard).
Jaskier knows he had a few, as his agent, Shani, has informed him on multiple occasions and if he sometimes mistakenly sleeps with one (the cliché truly does speak for itself) then his security team will happily keep him safe from their obsessive behaviour for the aftermath.
Or, that’s what he had thought.
“The whole team. Really Shani?”
“Really Jas. Seriously, can’t you keep it in your pants for once?”
He can hear her sigh exclaim the incredible exasperation she feels on a regular basis with him as her client. “Well, what are we going to do now?”
“Here’s where your stupid luck somehow comes into play.”
That perks him up. “Ooooo did my bard magic finally kick in? You know, I had felt the musings earlier of something spectacular happening, as it usually does at ComicCon, because this event only ever brings good things, and truly if my luck has come about again then certainly—“
“Please stop mixing your DnD campaign with reality.”
Sniffing indignantly, Jaskier smirks over his phone while scanning his nails. Fuck. They’re chipping. “You know I’m right darling.”
“Uh huh. ANYWAY, I was contacted by some security company offering their services to you for Comicon.”
Jaskier frowns. “That is…unusual and incredibly lucky indeed. By gods how did you manage that?”
“Did you not hear me when I said they offered?”
“Are you sure they aren’t a fan?”
While the question itself wasn’t incredulous and certainly feasible, Shani fucking snorts.
“Definitely not. Trust me, when you see the team, you’ll see why.”
“I find that hard to believe. Dandelion is quite the show with an enormous fanbase dedicated to its success. We have devotees everywhere.”
“Trust me Jas. They have no interest in your show. They’re the real deal these guys. They don’t fuck around.”
“If that’s the case why didn’t we hire them before? Surely they would’ve been better than the previous group.”
“Because they don’t usually do basic security detail. They aren’t fucking escorts.”
Jaskier’s ears perk up, leaning forward in his chair, flashing a smile to the intern handing him a water before he enters the panel, eager to see what this new team entails.
“Who are they?”
“Oh no. I know that voice. Jaskier, you are NOT sleeping with the security team. I don’t care how pretty you find them. You aren’t a magpie. Let them do their job, you keep it in your pants for once, and we wrap up this weekend with a nice little bow hm? No escapades, no crazy stan hookups, no bread in pants. Keep it tucked and just do your job alright?”
“You’re an absolute bore and I make no promises.”
The exasperated sigh appears again. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You attract danger like a magnet.”
“And my bard luck gets me out of it. Love you Shani. I’ll see you soon?”
“Mhm. Your security contact is named Yennefer. She’ll meet you after your panel and introduce you to the team.”
“Lovely. Tootles my dear, I’m about to go on.”
“Break a leg Jas.”
“Don’t I always?”
Geralt hates Comic-con. Truth be told, he hates pretty much any human event where his senses go haywire due to people held together like pack mules. He’s never been one for large gatherings, he usually hands those off to Eskel, but apparently this event was “inconvenient” due to his fucking goat being ill or some shit.
Geralt didn’t ask. He never does.
He stares out into the crowds, adjusting the earpieces for ambient control so he doesn’t get a headache from all the sound. Gods this place is a shit show. He can smell poor hygiene like a thick rain cloud hanging over the room, faint whiffs of poorly placed perfumes and colognes, and sweat sticking to people like a second skin.
He fucking hates Comic-con.
“You’re brooding.”
Geralt winces as the voice echoes into his ear, before grumbling something about stupid witches.
“I’m fine Yen.”
“Mhm. Well, if you’re really fine, you can head to room 2B. Apparently that’s where he’ll be.”
“Any news about the doppler?”
“No. Lambert’s keeping a lookout. He hasn’t spotted any unusual occurrences on the ground yet.”
“It’s definitely here though. That’s what your contact said?”
“Yes. According to the profile sent over, this doppler has been in the game for a few years now. Still a novice and known for messy kills.”
“Hm. Why hire a messy assassination in a public setting? Something’s not right.”
“While usually your gut instinct is spot on, I do believe this may be a desperate attempt at appeasing a broken heart.”
Geralt snorts. “Pretty fucking extreme then.”
“Well, our little actor here has a long line of dalliances with unsavory individuals. I was talking with his agent earlier about it. He’s got a rep for sleeping with fans. Crazy or not.”
“Hm. We’ve got a horny kid who can’t keep it in his pants. That’s the mark?”
“He’s 28 actually. And from the looks of it he’s quite popular. He’s both a musician and an actor. He hasn’t released any new music for a while, choosing to focus on his show “Dandelion.”
“What the fuck even is that?”
“How about you go to room 2B and find out?”
“Yen…” Geralt growls.
“It is your job. Might as well do an intake of the audience to see what kind of killer you might be dealing with.”
Geralt huffs, hanging up on Yennefer as he wanders his way to the room where the panel is. The room is packed upon his arrival, so the only space is at the back (not that he would’ve gone anywhere near the front). He scans heads, skimming over various hair colours before his eyes stray to the group at the far end of the room.
That’s when he seems him.
Jaskier. He doesn’t have a last name, which tells Geralt it’s a moniker. But trying to find anything on who the kid used to be is near impossible. His agent wouldn’t spare any details, simply stating it was “irrelevant.”
Obviously, a lie. But Yennefer had said that was fine. “If he wants to hide his past, let him hide his past. We certainly can’t deny him that when we’ve done it ourselves.”
A point that Geralt begrudgingly admitted to. He certainly had his fair share of demons he didn’t want drudged up again, so…
Jaskier it was.
As Geralt stares at him, he can see why some people go crazy for him. He’s, well fuck, he’s attractive. Blatantly so. He’s got that impish charm hidden in the corner of his smile, his eyes twinkle in a cornflower blue with hair that shimmers as if it was smooth silk. He bets it feels that way too.
“Charming, isn’t he?”
“Fucking hell Yen.” Geralt speaks as he winces from the sound in his ears. “Witcher senses don’t work with technology.”
“Makes it all that more entertaining.”
Geralt grits his teeth, grinding them against one another so he can mentally prepare himself for whatever the witch has to say now. “What do you want?”
“Jaskier is going to do the panel. When it’s done, I’ll introduce the two of you so you can get acquainted. He’s got a signing later today that you shouldn’t need to be near him for that as there will be lots of people around. After, he’ll be heading to the afterparty and then the hotel.”
“Hm.”
“Maybe use more than just grunts when you meet him. Goodness knows you could use the practice.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Ciri’s words. Not mine. Though I’m inclined to agree.”
Geralt drags a hand down his face, glaring at the poor fool who glances his way.
“And don’t terrify the fans either. The last thing we need is more attention drawn to you.”
“I have a feeling shadowing this idiot will bring more attention than any of us need.”
“Good point.”
“Where are you going to be?”
“Behind the panel backstage. Close enough to anchor you if anything happens. Far away enough to not be spotted.”
“Good.”
“He talks a lot, doesn’t he?”
Geralt’s eyes go to Jaskier’s again, hearing the melodious lift to his voice as he waves his hands around in exclamation. He’s exuberant, but definitely able to keep the crowd hanging on his every word.
And when his pretty blues land on Geralt, he can smell a wave of lust roll through the group and smash into his nostrils, happily taking residence there.
“Fuck.”
Yennefer cackles.
Jaskier grins shamelessly as he steps down from the panel and heads backstage. What a rush. Gods, he missed this. He didn’t realize how much he missed talking about his show but holy fuck he missed it very much. The fans were licking up every tidbit he dropped, his banter with Essi, the creator was poetic, a true exchanging of the minds, and he even managed to get some jabs at bloody Valdo.
An excellent start to the day.
And then, oh the absolute cherry on top, the man in the back. The white wolf as Jaskier has eloquently dubbed him in his imagination.
He can picture him now, long white hair that rivals the first snowfall, eyes of fine glittering amber, and he was deliciously big. He hopes he’s a fan. Metitles tits he wants to climb him. Ride him. If his muscles are that grand, imagine how his cock must be.
“Jaskier! We need you to get ready for the signing!”
Jaskier wipes the drool that he feels slipping down the corner of his mouth as the one of the managers calls him. Realizing that he’s just standing there backstage looking like an idiot, he whips out his phone, eager to see what fans have said about the panel as he begins to maneuver to the next spot.
That’s when he catches a Chelsea boot out of the corner of his eye in pristine condition. He’s always been a sucker for a well-dressed individual. With a sudden desire to express his pleasure at the well-kept shoe, his eyes shoot to the body wearing them and his grin goes Cheshire.
Bard luck indeed. Jaskier will happily knock on this man’s boots.
Because its none other than white wolf. His eyes track every movement the man makes. From scanning the room to the deep inhale from his nose.
Gods, does everything this man do be absolutely mouthwatering?
Jaskier checks himself, nodding in vanity at his designer’s choice of clothing today. It’s certainly one of his more tamer outfits out of his wardrobe, being a pale jean with black converse and a white, short sleeve with motorcycles sprawling across, but he’s got his jewelry so not all is lost to the casual wear.
Either way, he looks like a fucking snack.
With that confidence burning in his veins he saunters his way over, glancing around to make sure no one else is approaching the bulk of a man. The white wolf seems to pay no mind to Jaskier, just leaning again a wall, menacingly, and the closer he gets, the larger his muscles appear to be, the black Henley firm against the biceps, his dark jeans following the curve of his calves.
Metitles tits, he truly is a beautiful man.
“I just love how you stand there and brood.” Jaskier wears his most devastating smile, the one that he knows lures all to his bed. It’s never failed him in all his years he’s used it, and he has lived for quite a few.
Perks of elven blood. He doesn’t age like a normal human.
The man turns, freezing Jaskier in place. It’s his eyes. They aren’t amber as he originally had thought but gold, like the morning sun that settles on the horizon. A colour that reminds him of his mother’s wedding ring after a fresh polish. He is momentarily out of words, just gaping at the man who raises an eyebrow in response to Jaskier’s inability to say a damn thing.
“You here alone?” he asks, with gloriously deep voice that makes Jaskier not really hear what he says, but rather on the tone it’s delivered in. He’s got a bit of a thing for sultry sounds.
But something scratches at the back of Jaskier’s mind when the man speaks. Something tingling down his spine that seems to stretch itself into his arms. An old feeling, a yearning to reach out and touch this man’s chest. To trace his collarbone. To feel something against his skin.
Jaskier shakes the sensation away, dismissing it as nothing more than his dick wanting some action, because, well, yes. He wants this man very much. Here. Right now. Exhibitionism isn’t a big kink of his but for this man he’ll drop his pants right here.
Wisely though, Jaskier keeps that comment to himself and instead drags his eyes to where the man is now looking at a woman of ethereal beauty walking towards them. Purple eyes of fire that could knock someone down where they stood, raven hair cascading in luxurious locks putting a gentle shore’s waves to shame, a voluptuous figure held together by a pantsuit that sparkles like the night sky.
Maybe he’ll exchange his brawn for her. Though she’ll probably eat him alive.
Not a bad way to go. he thinks.
“Jaskier, correct?”
“Indeed, my lady and you are?”
Unimpressed, she raises an eyebrow. “God you do lay it on thick don’t you?”
Jaskier opens his mouth to spat back something equally vicious until he notices the amused look on the man’s face. He promptly shuts it, eyes narrowing shrewdly at the woman. A lightbulb goes off. “You must be Yennefer.”
“Not an idiot then. At least there’s some hope for you. Yes, I’m Yennefer and this, is Geralt.”
“An absolute pleasure.” The brunet sticks out his hand to which Geralt (he has a name finally!) shakes it. The hands are large and firm, with little scars and callouses etched throughout. Jaskier very much wants to do a deep study of those fingers.
With his tongue. Preferably.
Though he doesn’t say anything to that degree, Geralt quickly takes his hand back and stuffs it in his pocket, looking anywhere but at Jaskier and if the actor didn’t know better, he’d say Geralt heard his thoughts.
He bloody well hopes not. He’s quite confident Geralt and Yennefer have something going on between the two of them. They’re too spectacular of a couple not to.
Best not to get his hopes up. But damn him if he won’t try anyway. Jaskier’s never been a saint.
Yennefer gazes at him astutely, as he tries not to shrink under her eyes, unraveling him and most likely determining whether or not he will be a problem. He should probably say something to the effect of he’ll be the perfect picture of good behaviour, but, well, that would probably burn into flames rather quickly. Shani doesn’t lie when she calls him a danger magnet.
“So, I must admit, I’m intrigued as to why a team such as yourself are interested in little ol’ me. Not that it isn’t flattering of course, I am quite flattered, and you do have impeccable timing. Wait, you didn’t have anything to do with the quitting of my old security team, did you? Seems like a rather trivial thing for individuals of your caliber. Not that it matters. They were a bunch of useless bumbles anyway. The last time they did their jobs somewhat adequately they –”
“Do you ever shut up?”
Yennefer appears to be stifling a laugh while Geralt’s eyes glare into Jaskier’s head. He’d be offended, really, he would, but he’s quite used to this reaction. He can tend to go on rambles about nothing for quite some time. Jaskier can only grin sheepishly.
“Right. Sorry. Tend to prattle a bit. Most find it endearing actually but then I’m usually in the act of pleasuring them. Or them pleasuring me. I’m flexible.”
A side eye reveals nothing in Geralt’s expression much to Jaskier’s chagrin. Fuck, he was hoping to get some tell tale sign that the man was interested. But alas, dead faced as a rock.
Yennefer still looks on amused at Jaskier’s antics, before landing her penetrating gaze onto the bigger man.
“Oh, Geralt you’re going to have so much fun.”
Geralt only scowls at her. Jaskier shrugs, figuring that he’s barking up the wrong tree if the man can’t see his obvious interest. Perhaps he’ll need to go find someone else to fool around with later tonight. Though that idea doesn’t settle well with him as it normally would.
He wants Geralt. The white wolf. Gods, he could practically butcher him with those thighs alone and Jaskier would welcome it wholeheartedly.
An old memory floats into his conscious then, one recalled from long ago as he stares at the fine hair on his passion's head.
Butcher of Blaviken.
Hs eyes widen and he gapes at Geralt, who looks at him like he’s grown two heads.
“You’re the Butcher of Blaviken! Gods! I remember watching a docuseries about you! The one on witchers. Is that what your team is? Witchers? No wonder Shani mentioned you lot don’t have any humor. In fact, I reckon you haven’t had much positive publicity since that series came out. Truth be told I didn’t—”
And Jaskier, as he ran his mouth off, really, truly, should have seen the fist in the gut coming.
Geralt knows he shouldn’t have punched Jaskier. He knows he should’ve just…left, cooled off, maybe gone for a run around the building.
Yen’s going to give him hell. Fuck, Vesemir is going to give him hell.
But the idiot was just—he was just spilling words he knew nothing about. That fucking docuseries. He’ll never be rid of that. Fuck.
Geralt finds himself in some random hallway, after rushing away, sliding down the wall as his thoughts spiral. What the fuck is he going to do now? Gods he needs a break.
But because destiny is a bitch, he smells her before she appears. Lilacs and gooseberries.
Yennefer.
“Geralt, what the fuck was that?”
He scrubs his face. “I know Yen.”
“Do you? Because from I just saw you punched our client in the gut. A famous client. With a massive following. You thought the docuseries was bad? He could ruin us. One tweet or post and boom. Your reputation, shattered. Gods Geralt. Fucking hell. Why are you a walking PR nightmare?”
He watches her as she paces, calling Vesemir on her cell. Soon, she’s explaining the situation, with some very colorful language, while he just sits there, head in hands, letting out a long sigh.
He knows he fucked up. He just…doesn’t like the past being thrown in his face. Not when he can’t change it.
“Okay. We have a plan. Vesemir is calling Shani. Jaskier is at his signing. When he is finished, you are going to go and use your words and apologize.”
“Yen—”
“No. You will use your words or so help me God I will slaughter you myself. We need the money from this contract. We need to make sure this doppler is caught before it can do any damage. Do not let your emotions spiral out of control. I can only do so much as your anchor.”
Geralt lets out a breath. “I know.”
“Good. Now, you have an hour. This is what you are going to say, and you will say it verbatim. Understood?”
“Crystal.”
Jaskier sighs as he slides into his seat for the signing of paraphernalia. His stomach doesn’t hurt nearly as much as a few moments ago, thanks to Yennefer who apparently is a fucking sorceress. (Honestly, he can’t even be that surprised. The woman screams power and magic. And working with witchers? You certainly must keep up…Jaskier would very much like to keep up despite the hit to his pride).
He flexes his fingers, knowing that by the end of this they’ll be aching. As the star of a hit tv show, he very well knows he’ll be doing the most work today. Valdo can go fuck himself for implying otherwise. Jaskier’s carrying this show on his back.
“Jaskier, we’ll be letting them in in five!”
“Thanks Meg!”
He rolls his neck around, before he settles in. There isn’t much to do and while normally he he’d be composing; he hasn’t felt particularly inspired to do so. Not lately. His cuppeth hath runneth dry.
He snorts at his own eloquencey while allowing his mind to drift to Geralt’s storm off after giving him the blow and Yennefer’s own apologetic look before dashing off to catch the man.
Jaskier isn’t an idiot. He’s got several degrees from Oxenfurt in the seven arts, is well aware that his filter is never fully on, and that it can cause some people to get hurt. Case in point, he recalled the docuseries (which did Geralt no favours and is an absolute shame) and, as if he were a horrible person, jabs the man exactly in his open wound. Metaphorically, of course.
Clearly, the docuseries about witchers is a sore spot with Geralt. Jaskier shouldn’t have mentioned it, he knows this. The series is a joke, depicting witchers as some sort of heinous group of monsters despite being the individuals who actually kill the monsters. And while the film does an excellent job of catching footage and editing it, Jaskier knows there is more to the story. There always is.
It’s a true cruelty it is critically acclaimed when it is evidently a lie.
He purses his lips, deciding then and there that once this is all over, he’ll apologize to the brute. Geralt did nothing wrong except react to Jaskier’s own ignorance. Shani would side herself with Geralt in a heartbeat, having been on the end of Jaskier’s broken mouth a few times herself.
“Doors are opening!” shouts Meg from across the room, getting Jaskier’s attention. He quickly checks himself over, making sure all of his beauty is in place, thank fuck it is, and grins as the fans start pouring in. This hour will pass by quickly and he’ll be able to apologize to Geralt soon.
He looks forward to it very much as he begins to greet fans and sign their items.
Time seems to pass in a blur, and soon Jaskier can hear Meg making final calls backstage as the cast of Dandelion continue to interact with fans. A quick look over the table show Valdo speaking with some pretty redhead about something which is very much a lie, because with Valdo, it’s always a lie. Essi is being asked some sort of fan theory that she’s trying not to react to, Priscilla gleams mischief in her eyes as a fan asks her for something raunchy to be written on her headshot, and Cahir is being a fucking prick as usual.
He sighs, drowning out the noise around him and brings his focus back to the task at hand.
“And who should this be signed to?”
“A deep admirer of yours. You are much more handsome in person.”
Jaskier inwardly prepares himself for the possibility of having to refuse the obvious desire of this person until he sees them and oh.
Oh.
She’s breathtaking.
A petite little thing with a lovely bosom and ringlets that appear as spun gold. Eyes that are a decadent chocolate mousse and a smile promising a night of passion and fire.
Jaskier’s grin turns ravishing as he heatedly stares her up and down. “I will gladly sign this to you my darling. The name?”
“Delilah.”
“A fitting name for a fitting beauty.” He winks and then watches in pleasure as a blush rises in her cherub cheeks. Gods, this is very promising. He makes his signing extra extravagant before sliding his headshot to her. “It was absolutely enchanting to meet you my dear.”
“Where are you all going after this?”
“We’ll be heading to a networking event uptown.”
“Sounds like it will be a good time.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
“Keep it moving please! No holding up the line!” Delilah glances behind at Meg who is giving the girl a very annoyed look, gesturing to move, and let the others have a turn. She tucks a curl behind her ear, giving Jaskier a demure smile after. “Maybe I’ll see you later?”
“If the fates decide it.” He gives her a roguish grin, waving bye as she disappears back into the crowd. He wistfully sighs at her disappearance, thinking that he could’ve loved her, but he shall never see her again.
But as fast as the blink of an eye, the longing fades. Usually, Jaskier pines for people for a while but despite her beauty, she has left no impact on his heart. Just a blip, nothing more.
Odd.
Jaskier is the kind of man who falls in love quickly, swiftly. He has never not loved the ones he’s been with, and there have been many, but he truly has adored each one of them. For each one was unique, offering a different companionship than the ones before.
“Jaskier! Focus!” hisses Meg who’s shaking him out of his reverie.
“Sorry Meg. Won’t happen again.”
“She wasn’t even that pretty Jaskier. Seriously, you could do much better.”
He shrugs. There isn’t much point in arguing. He needs to focus on the task at hand, and with renewed vigor, dialing the charm up, he engages with his fans once again, Delilah nothing more than a forgotten encounter.
Geralt waits for Jaskier’s signing to be over outside of the room. The halls behind the scenes are fairly empty, as the event for the day is coming to a close. Not much action happening leaving one very bored witcher.
He looks at Jaskier’s schedule, fiddling with his phone as he debates if he should follow Yen’s advice.
“Look, why don’t you check out his series? Watch the trailer or something. Wikipedia it. I don’t care. But if you know about his show, he might feel more inclined to forgive your transgression.”
“Yen…”
“It can’t hurt Geralt. Just for once in your life, do the easy thing.”
With a resounding sigh, he scrunches the schedule into his back pocket, opening up his phone and pulling up the trailer to Dandelion. It’s a few minutes of absolute garbage because nothing in the show is remotely accurate to real life.
But he now understands how Jaskier knew about the docuseries. He probably watched it as research for the show. The clip after doesn’t make it any more entertaining, just Jaskier wielding a poorly crafted stake to kill a vampire. With the way he’s holding it and the blunt tip he’d barely make a dent in the skin.
Then again, this is Hollywood, so accuracy isn’t a requirement.
Geralt puts his phone away, twisting his fingers together as he waits. He takes out one of his earpieces, to get a better sense of where the signing is at. Maybe he can grab a coffee while he sits here. Do something productive.
A voice say five more minutes left and Geralt figures he has time to grab something from the crafts table sitting at the far end of the hall before meeting with Jaskier and apologizing. He can work up the courage and make sure he says exactly what Yen told him to.
As he walks away, he repeats the words in his head, muttering them under his breath. It’s a bit lengthy for his liking, but Jaskier seems like the kind of person who would appreciate a whole five-page letter of a written apology.
He’s no poet, there’s no point in fucking trying to be elaborate in what he says, so he’ll stick to Yen’s script because he really doesn’t have a better chance otherwise.
Grabbing a cup of piss poor coffee, he meanders back over to the back door that leads into the ballroom where Jaskier is. he hears the doors opening and the cast go through, chattering amongst themselves. He can smell various scents. A spicy pepper that wrinkles his nose because it isn’t exactly pleasant, roses and freshwater rain which helps to sooth away the previous smell, a few others and then sandalwood, with mint. That calms him immediately, the tension held in his shoulders rolling away, bringing a sense of ease to Geralt’s frame that he hasn’t experience in a long time. He frowns, not knowing why this particular scent is so enticing or why it brings such comfort to him.
But the more he smells it, the itchier his chest gets. Right over his where soul mark used to be. Geralt scratches it, then stops. Why the fuck is it acting up? It’s never done that before.
He taps into his earpiece. “Yen.”
“This better be a report that you have apologized and are escorting Jaskier to the afterparty.”
“Haven’t made contact with him yet. Not this is…something else.”
“You sound worried. What is it?”
“The spot where the soul mark used to be. It itches.”
Silence rings over the intercom. Yen isn’t usually one to be quiet unless it’s problematic but Geralt senses that she’s simply mulling over the information.
“Where are you?”
“Still backstage. Jaskier should be out by now.”
“Okay. Get him and I’ll meet with you to escort him to the afterparty. I want to take a look at the mark. It’s never done this before correct?”
“No.”
“Well, this will be interesting. Focus on getting Jaskier. We’ll deal with it when I meet you.”
“Got it.”
The line goes dead, leaving Geralt with a inkling of foreboding as he continues to the backdoor. He scans for the familiar mop of brown hair but doesn’t find it anywhere.
Fuck.
“Meg. Have you seen Jaskier?”
“Uh no? He’s probably in the bathroom. It’s down that way if you’re looking for him.”
Geralt nods, the feeling of foreboding rising into his chest. Something isn’t right.
“Hey, you said you were looking for Jaskier?”
The witcher looks at a woman with long blonde hair, wearing bright coloured clothes and blue eyes. “Yeah. Any idea where he is?”
“You must be his new security guard. I’m Priscilla. You’ll have your hands full for sure. I saw him head down the hall with a blonde. I think she was one of the fans from the signing.”
Fuck.
“Thanks.”
Geralt moves quickly, dashing down the direction the girl pointed. The feeling from earlier ruptures, turning into something fierce.
Jaskier is in danger.
The mere idea of something happening to the actor makes Geralt’s blood boil. He can feel himself shifting, eyes going black, skin turning pale. Normally, this transformation requires a potion but something instinctual is kicking in.
His mind drifts from sensible and rational to protectprotectprotect.
He smells curdling milk, souring the closer he gets. Jaskier is afraid. Which means he’s with the doppler. Which means he’s on death’s doorstep. Because the man may be lovely, but he won’t survive against a doppler intent on having him dead.
And as he turns the corner, he sees it. The doppler has Jaskier up against the wall, teeth bared with a blade right up against his throat. Blood drips onto the pair.
And Geralt see red.
Here’s the thing.
Jaskier had been having a lovely time when Delilah snuck backstage to meet him. Yes, it was a red flag, yes Jaskier should have listened to Shani and rejected the girl’s advances.
But she’s just so pretty. And her hands had begun to trace his forearms which he was quite a big fan of, and if she gripped his hand a bit to tightly, Jaskier merely took it as foreplay.
He honestly should have had enough experience with crazy fans to know better by now. Really, he’ll give Shani that.
But this…
This is NOT what he signed up for.
The beautiful woman had shifted into a grotesque creature, drenched in an unpleasant smell which was going to be living in his clothes for weeks. Jaskier didn’t know what was worse. The fact that he would now have to burn his, incredibly gorgeous and expensive clothing or that he had been making out with a goblin like creature.
The latter. Definitely the latter.
Metitle’s tits you need to get your priorities straight Jaskier. He can hear Shani’s eye roll in his head.
Which, is quite unfair, as he literally has a demon encompassing his neck with its claws.
“Well aren’t you just…a sight for stunning eyes. Oh dear, while I love a good chokehold, I usually prefer it in a mattress full of cotton rather than a brick wall where it digs into my back.”
The creature, Delilah? Fuck. No. Creature. Anything that shapeshifts from a humanoid to a beast certainly that is very keen on killing him does not deserve a name.
“Shut up bard.” it hisses. Oh god. The voice is so much worse. It strains against Jaskier’s ears, like nails on a chalkboard. Fear begins to coil in his gut, right in the spot where Geralt had punched him, and isn’t that just poetic?
Oh gods. He’s going to die. Shani will be utterly pissed before she ever sobs at his grave. Hell, she might bring him back to life just to kill him again for not listening to her.
He would not put it past her.
Right as he’s dreaming his demise at his agent’s hand is when he feels something cold at his throat, right above where the hand is digging in tighter. He can see black spots now.
“Well—my dearest—oh gods.”
“This is for Bellamy.”
Jaskier tries to recall meeting someone with that name, but the lack of air to his lungs seems to deter his memory from working. Lovely.
“I can’t—say I know—that—balls—per—son.”
The hand around the throat loosens a bit, thank god, allowing a bit more breathing room. Apparently, his inability to remember the person who wants him dead has worked in his favour. However, there is still the very sharp blade at his throat which he would very much like to do without.
“Bellamy was your lover. You broke her heart. I have come to avenge her.”
“I am terribly sorry for her heart being broken. Let it be known it was certainly not my intention.”
“Flowery words will make you no friends bard.”
“At least grant me one last thing before you end me off.”
The thing seems to consider his request, and for a moment Jaskier genuinely thinks he might be able to convince the creature to let him go.
But the blade chooses to slice his skin as it digs in deeper. The black spots come back. And Jaskier can feel his life begin to slip away.
And then out of nowhere, he drops to the ground, gasping for breath. The doppler is thrown from him, smashed against the wall as he clutches his bleeding neck.
“Fuck.”
He looks up and sees Geralt, who is a far cry from his appearance earlier and yet still so stunningly handsome it takes his breath away.
Though that might just be the fact he is literally gasping, recalling oxygen to his lungs.
“GERALT. STOP.” Someone shouts from the other end and it’s Yennefer, eyes wide, fingers pressed to her temple trying to do something. But Geralt isn’t stopping, only continues to beat the monster, which is very, obviously, dead.
Yennefer appears frantic, begins to wave her hands and murmur something, eyes gone from fearful to determined, a steely gaze that intends to hurt.
She’s going to harm Geralt to stop him. He should let her. She is a sorceress after all and Geralt is clearly not in the right frame of mind. Surely, he should let her handle it.
But, he’s never had very good self-preservation. And the tingle from earlier, the one that happened when he first met Geralt rears its head, stronger than ever, searing through him to his soul mark, which has never indicated its existence before. He grasps it, despite it being covered by his glamour, but the pain does not ease, instead triggering his ears to flicker as they do on occasion, listening to the sound of someone’s heartbeat. It’s elevated, but instinct tells him it shouldn’t be. It should be much slower.
So, he moves, following that sound into Geralt’s sight. The man stills, obsidian gaze solely on him. He can hear Yennefer stop her speech, but her presence fades away. The world narrows on the two of them, in this moment, and Jaskier places his hand on the heartbeat, easing it to thump at a slower pace. He feels it calm under his palm, the world slowly coming back to. He hears heavy breathing wrapping around him warmly and he dares his eyes up.
Geralt watches him with his golden sunrise, the black vanishing along with its veins and pale glow. He simply stares at Geralt, not removing his hand, not until instinct tells him the heartbeat is normal.
“Fuck.”
The spell broken from Yennefer, the pair rip away from one another, Geralt echoing his veins around his eyes with his fingers and Jaskier holding his hand and eyes widened at whatever the living fuck just happened.
Yennefer goes to Jaskier’s side, looks at his neck, murmurs something and he feels his skin knit back together before she beelines to Geralt and Jaskier doesn’t blame her because something strange happened. Something ancient. He can feel it in his bones. Old magic.
Powerful magic.
Geralt looks through Yennefer. He’s foggy on what just happened, not entirely sure other than a very dead doppler and an injured Jaskier.
“Geralt.” Yen snaps her fingers in his face. He blinks out of his trance.
“What?”
“What just happened?”
“I—”
“I called you through the bond, but it didn’t work. Geralt…it’s gone. You’re not anchored to me anymore.”
His eyes widen and zoom to Jaskier, who’s eyes have fluttered shut, his whole frame screaming exhaustion. And he knows, he just knows in his gut, that Yen is right. The anchor bond has vanished. But he still feels tethered to someone.
To Jaskier.
“Fuck.”
He rubs his soul mark absent-mindedly, but the action makes Yennefer’s eyes narrow. “Geralt. Your mark.”
“Itches.” he grunts, eyes never leaving Jaskier. Watching his breathing, making sure it’s actually happening unlike before, with the doppler.
His eye twitches. He feels a sense of panic begin to rise in him again. But then he smells sandalwood and mint, and it disappears after a deep inhale.
This is going to be a problem.
Yennefer’s eyes follow his vision to the resting actor. “Well, looks like we’ll need to make a little trip. I’m sure Ciri will be thrilled that we’ll be coming home early. I’ll let Vesemir know about our house guest, shall I?”
“What?” hisses Geralt, eyes now on the sorceress.
“Geralt. Your anchor switched. And more importantly, it switched to him. And unless you can control yourself on your own, which you displayed splendidly just now, we need to keep a watchful eye on the two of you and figure out what the fuck just happened.”
“Yen.”
“Shani told me he’s got a penchant for danger. You want to leave him on his own? Fend for himself?”
A growl erupts from Geralt’s chest, his breath huffing out in anger instinctually.
“That’s what I thought. I’ve got a few calls to make. You let our little friend know what’s going on and how he’ll be out of the public eye for a bit. I’m sure he’ll be relieved after this escapade.”
With that Yennefer turns the corner, chattering away to herself, working through what just happened in her own away. Geralt sighs, not eager to do anything but to go home.
But Yen’s right. Whatever just happened, why the anchor bond has broken and been connected to another, needs to be figured out. That takes precedent over his own fatigue.
He stumbles to Jaskier and kneels down. The man opens one eye, than the other, simply gauging him. Geralt does the same.
“I hurt all over.”
“It’s probably your adrenaline coming down.”
“Well, that would explain why I was able to reach you with a hemorrhaged neck and shortness of breath. Oh gods did a truck run over me? Perhaps a stampede? I feel like I’ve been crushed.”
“You’ll be fine. Yen healed your wound.”
“Kind of her. Figured she was more of a murder you point blank witch than a healer.”
“She is. Triss is the healer.”
“Oh. There’s more of them. Perfect. I’ll just sign my death warrant now, then shall I?”
“You’re not dying.”
“But I am coming with you to wherever you live yes?”
Geralt sighs, not surprised at being overheard. Jaskier does seem to be a sneak.
“It would be best yes.”
“What’s this whole anchor bond thing you speak of, because you see, I’ve heard of soulmate bonds, but the term anchor is rather new.”
“We’ll explain when we get to Kaer Morhen. Not here.”
“Not where others can listen.”
“Yes.”
“Makes sense. You can sit beside me Geralt you know. I don’t bite. Not unless asked, of course.”
Geralt can’t help but smirk as he moves to sit beside Jaskier against the wall. If the actor can still flirt, he’ll be fine.
A quick glance out the window shows the setting sun, bathing them in a warm glow. Accompanying it is a strange sense of contentment that dances between the pair, swirling around and settling into their breaths.
The scent of sandalwood and mint comes through his nose, so Geralt follows it, wondering where its coming from.
It leads him to Jaskier.
Who appears fae like in the pinkish glow of dusk. If Geralt squints, he can swear there’s a little point at the tip of his right ear. But he’s too tired to think so instead he lets Jaskier’s scent lull him into a meditative state.
He’s safe, his gut tells him, he’s safe.
Outfit Inspiration:
Jaskier
Geralt
Yennefer