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Published:
2020-08-07
Completed:
2020-09-18
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80,318
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14/14
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Batshit

Summary:

Jaskier is attending Comic-Con to promote his show, "Dandelion" a musical thriller. While everything on the show is fiction, Jaskier has a penchant for danger and very quickly finds himself in a bit of trouble and into the arms of one delectable man who he feels drawn to. His heart whispers soulmate, but after his previous disaster with his soul mark, he can't bear to believe it true.

The punch in the gut tells him that much.

...

Geralt meanwhile attends Comic-Con not for the fanbase but for the rumor of a doppler hired for an assassination. He hates every second of it, from the loud noises to the horrible smells. And he's quite eager to kill the thing and be done with it. It should've been a simple mission anyway. That is, until the doppler attempts to kill some actor and Geralt goes feral for absolutely no reason.

And then, because Destiny is a heinous bitch, shit hits the fan. And Geralt soon finds himself stuck with a very loud and exasperating man as his new anchor.

Well fuck.

Soulmate/Modern AU

Notes:

This is my first Witcher fic. So, HEADS UP:

Do I own anything in this fandom? No.

Did I see the tv canon and throw most of it out the window? Yes.

Do I have any regrets? No.

Is this a modern, soulmate AU fic? Yes.

No beta we die like Renfri. But if you want to be my beta to make me beta, I'm into it.

Enjoy lovelies!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: You Think I'm Batshit

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

Chapter 2: I'll Let You Have It

Notes:

Me: Alright, the chapter will be posted on Thursday as stated. I have a schedule, Imma stick with it.

Also Me: Okay, but it's done and edited a bazillion and I love it so much and I want to share it and I'm an impatient fucker.

Me: But...the schedule.

Also Me: Yeah but also, now you can work on chapter 3.

Me: Good point. Well spotted Also Me.

Alrighty folks here's the game plan. My creativity does not bind itself to the social norms of "planning" so l'll be posting chapters when "Also Me" is sated. They will be weekly though and I will always provide a due date which will be the latest it can be uploaded by! So you shall never be left wanting for more than 7 days.

In other words, y'all are gems. I was worried this was going to bomb but you're all so gracious and wonderful and absolute delights. So, here's chapter 2 which means....EXPOSITION! MEET THE FAMILY! ANCHOR BONDS! PROTECTIVE GERALT! HORNY JASKIER! But not explicit. Well, not yet. ;)

As usual, I own nothing and fired my cannon at the canon to smash it to smithereens to make way for my ship.

Enjoy lovelies!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Batshit

Chapter 2: I’ll Let You Have it

“But how could you love another soul the right way, if you’ve spent your whole life loving yourself in all the wrong ways…”
―  Samiha Totanji

 

“Jaskier. What was the one thing I told you to do?”

“Not sleep with anyone. Which, to be fair, I didn’t actually do.”

“You are not getting out of this on a fucking technicality. Besides, your intention was to sleep with them, so your point is moot anyway.”

“I—Yes.”

“Do you know what this means Jas? You are out of the spotlight for who knows how long! You can’t go on social media, can’t appear at any events, nothing. Because, oh guess what? YOU STUCK YOUR DICK IN THE WRONG COMPARTMENT.”

Jaskier winces as Shani’s voice screeches through his phone. He holds it away, quite content to let her go off without murdering his ears, especially as they’re sensitive little things.

“It wasn’t that I slept with them, it was that they had fallen in love with me a little too much! I don’t even remember a Bellamy!”

Shani doesn’t answer, which is pretty much an answer in itself. Jaskier sighs, his head falling into his hand. He can hear his agent’s own anger fizzle out.

“Look. I can’t keep you from sleeping with your fans despite the blaring evidence of how much of a bad idea it is. But this was an unusual circumstance, an incredibly dangerous one, so until we figure out who decided to send an assassin to kill you, which is just…Melitele’s tits you attract the worst possible people I swear, you need to lay low. I hate it, I’m sure you do as well, but I’d rather have you alive and dazzling your fanbase once this is all over than dead in some back alleyway.”

“You’re too kind Shani.”

“Uh huh. Just…don’t do any more stupid shit okay? You stress me out too much and I am far too young for any grey hairs. If I start sprouting, you won’t need to worry about a hired murderer trying to kill you. I’ll do it myself.”

“I love you too my darling.”

The phone call ends with Jaskier cradling it in his hands, Shani’s voice is no longer lecturing him on his actions, a sweet sound to his ears. He loves the woman but she mother hens him a bit too much.

Though, he supposes his track record has given her good reason to. Now, he’ll have to survive without her due to his lockdown.

It’s been a few days since he’s arrived at Kaer Morhen. He’s slept for two and it’s inching into the third, with dawn slowly rising. His room is, very much not what he was expecting in the slightest, and yet somehow it is exactly perfect despite not being his usual taste.

The furniture is antique and beautifully carved by hand, giving it a story, which he longs to find out as he traces the bedpost softly with his fingers. The bedsheets were a bit dusty when he arrived but soft and pleasant as he had sunk into them. He may have enjoyed them more than normal due to exhaustion, but he also isn’t one to look a gift horse in its mouth either. They are exquisite despite being out of style and precisely what he needed at that moment. Or for the rest of his life. He could very well get used to the comforts of this bed.

Jaskier glances around, taking it all in once more before stretching himself upwards. Wait. Shit. He doesn’t have his clothes. And he can’t go out in yesterday’s outfit. That would be a crime against fashion. He gives himself a quick sniff. Good god he reeks. His clothes must be so much worse.

“First order. A shower. Then we’ll figure out something about the garments.”

The last time he visited the suite attached to his room, he’d been groggy and barely awake to truly register its magnificence. Now, as he steps in, his mouth drops in awe. The bedroom may have been a bit medieval but the bathroom. It’s absolutely marvelous, structured as a miniature roman bathhouse. Almost everything is marble, intricately designed and Jaskier feels like he’s been transported into a different world.

He shucks his clothes, steps into the shower, turning it to an almost scalding temperature. A quick look shows him small hair products complemented by a bar of soap. Excellent. He’ll be decent when he leaves then.

Well, as decent as one can be with what he has in regard to clothes.

As he showers, he thinks that he might be able to meander around the keep, try to find a laundry room with scraps from other’s outfits. Surely a place of this size must have that no?

It’ll give him a chance to learn more about the house he is being kept in and the company he will be keeping too.

As he scrubs himself clean the past few days come flooding back, causing Jaskier to stagger a bit backwards into the wall. The water hits his chest, little prickles of heat momentarily scathing. It feels…appropriate for his current circumstances. While sleeping for two days has left him well-rested, (and thankfully he didn’t scar due to Yennefer’s magic), his life is upside down. Like Shani said, he can’t go outside or online for a while which means...

Fuck. He really is stuck with whatever awaits him in the keep.

Perhaps they have a library where he can read to his heart’s content, or a music room! Though, his desire to play anything has yet to come back with a vengeance. His muse had left him and without her…

Well fuck that train of thought, he thinks as he steps out and dries himself off.

“She played you like a fiddle Jaskier. You’re better off without her.”

He wipes the steam off the mirror and runs a hand over his cheeks. No stubble, thank goodness. He’s never liked beards. Not on him anyway. But on others…

His imagination pulls up Geralt, with a white beard and Jaskier sighs dreamily.

That man would look delectable wearing a potato sack. Maybe he can casually suggest his white wolf to embrace facial hair.

“Alright Jas. Let’s find you some clothes.” A firm nod at his reflection which he finishes with a wink has Jaskier grinning as he leaves the lavatory. He’s about ready exit his room and attempt to find some semblance of clothing when he spots suitcases on his bed that are illuminated by the sun. Dawn has now passed, painting the room in a friendly atmosphere, making Jaskier wish he had a large cup of coffee in his hand. Nevertheless, he shall make do.

So, the suitcases.

There are two large purple luggage bags which look oddly familiar but Jaskier knows they aren’t his. His have polka dots. A bit tacky but by gods he adores them.

He zips the cases open regardless and gasps in delight upon seeing the inside. It’s his clothes! Well, not his whole wardrobe (though that probably wouldn’t fit in this room anyway) but certainly his favourite items. He rips off his current outfit and tosses it to the side, diving in and pulling out pieces.

He settles on a short sleeve turtleneck that’s deep blue with red links all around that highlights his biceps quite nicely (many of his past lovers have adored this part of him. If he’s trying to impress a certain someone, well, no one is the wiser). He matches it with a pair of black slacks and black loafers. He adds his jewellery as he dashes into the bathroom to give one final assessment. He ruffles his hair a bit, thanking whatever deity for blessing his locks with the ability to always look perfect no matter how he sleeps.  

“Knock them dead sweetcheeks.” He blows a kiss to himself in the mirror and skips out to the hall, ready to take on the day.

Now, if he only knew where he’s supposed to go.

 

 


 

 

Geralt is dozing, slowly but surely coming alive after a deep sleep, when his door slams open and a flurry of his child surprise rushes in and smashes onto his body, giggling as she does so. He emits a groan, far too tired to deal with her until his brain registers it is, in fact, morning which means she’s exactly on time.

Fuck. It’s too early for this shit.

“Ciri.”

“Dad.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Other than waking you up? No. Did you know we have a guest? Dad! We haven’t had anyone here in ages! Did you meet them? Do you know who they are? Are they a boy or a girl? Mom wouldn’t tell me anything. She said to ask you.”

Okay. One. Fuck Yen for being a conniving bitch and sending their daughter to badger him with too many questions. And two.

It is way to early for this shit.

“Hm.”

“DAD. You can’t grumble as an answer. Ugh. You’re the worst. Fine. If you won’t tell me, I’ll just find them myself.”

That wakes Geralt up. While he adores his daughter, would burn the world for her, he has absolutely no desire to get her and Jaskier in a room together because something is bound to blow up. His gut instinct tells him so after the incident with the doppler (which is a whole pile of shit he has to deal with very soon and he does not want to), and Ciri’s own mischievous nature. They’d ruin the keep.

Fuck.

“I’m up, I’m up.”

Geralt doesn’t miss the impish twinkle in Ciri’s eye, or the scampy grin. He only rolls his eyes, his own smile threatening to burst. She definitely knows his weak spots.

He loves her so much.  

“I’ll see you at breakfast! Oh! Mom wanted me to tell you to escort the guest to the dining hall cause he’ll probably get lost.”

Wait a minute.

“Wait a minute—”

“BYE DAD!” and she’s gone in a flash. Geralt’s eyes narrow at the vacant spot, his mind slowly speeding up it’s ability to function as his body cranks itself awake. Ciri obviously played him since she clearly knows who their guest is. Or at least has some knowledge.

Well, she isn’t going to rope the actor into some sort of prank if she’s going to breakfast. Small mercies.

Geralt sighs while pushing himself up off the bed and makes his way to the bathroom only to lug his frame into the shower, turn the cold tap up so the water is freezing and awakens what parts of him are still tired.

Five minutes go by then he’s out of there, not interested in wasting anymore time or water from the springs underneath. One towel goes around his waist and the other to shake his hair dry. There isn’t much point in appearances, so he grabs one of his old leather bands and pulls his white mane back into a low bun, with a few tendrils slipping through.

Geralt’s not vain by any means, nor does he think he’s a particularly handsome man, but he knows his hair at least is one of those things that draws people in. White hair and gold eyes, a peculiar combination that makes a potential partner intrigued. Until they learn what he does. Until they learn what he is. 

Then, they leave as quickly as they came. No need for a soulmate, they’d run in the other direction, not interested in being forever bound to a witcher. Forever bound to the Butcher of Blaviken.

Geralt’s eyes go to where his soul mark used to be, now an ugly black scar that stretches itself underneath his collar bone. His thumb runs lightly overtop, feeling the bumps and jagged edges that never healed properly despite his mutagens.

He doesn’t feel anything. Not a tingle, not a shiver, nothing. Which begs the question, why has it been itching? The mark has never showcased its presence before, never indicated his soulmate was near, it’s just been a black, charred thing from where he had sliced through it after the Trial of Grasses.

“A later problem then.” He’ll have Yen take a look at it, see if something has changed that he can’t see. She hasn’t had a chance yet due to dealing with the ramifications of their guest’s disappearance from the world. She’s probably eager to get at it. 

He moves to the closet, throwing on the first thing he sees, a red Henley with blue jeans and boots. He slaps his leather cuffs onto his wrists, huffing with one final lookover and leaves his quarters.

Ciri’s vanished from the hall but her voice comes up amongst the others at breakfast. Only him and Jaskier left then. Geralt, being a smart man, follows his daughter’s instructions and goes to Jaskier’s room, mentally preparing for the barrage of words that he’ll be assaulted with.

He’s expecting to have to knock a fair amount, because Jaskier doesn’t seem like the kind of person who is an early riser (he has been out cold for the past two days and the times he has been awake he’s been completely out of it). But as he approaches, he hears whistling, and it’s getting louder.

Jaskier.

He doesn’t see Geralt as he walks, more interested in the paintings on the walls. He lingers at each, the tune he blows docile against Geralt’s ears. It’s a cheery sound, but Geralt doesn’t recognize the song. Whatever it is, it isn’t his usual choice of music.

“Jaskier.”

The actor brightens when he hears his name, his smile expanding to the tips of his cheeks. “Geralt! Good morning! How are you faring today? The sun is shining splendidly. If I knew where anything was, I’d be outside laying in the grass and enjoying the heat. But, well, I’m just wandering at this point. Gods, I’ve had the loveliest sleep. I’ll need to thank whoever left food on my beside table. You though, good sir, have impeccable timing, almost like a shining knight coming to save me from boredom. You’re too kind.” His tone is warm and inviting, matching the rays of sunshine that stream through the windows.

However, while Jaskier is eager to greet the witcher, Geralt finds himself at a loss for words. He is too stunned by the appearance of the actor when he turned the corner, overwhelmed by the scent of sandalwood and mint. With Jaskier now before him, Geralt’s eyes…

They see.

He knows the actor is desirable, but never has it crossed his mind that he would be handsome. Geralt is no fool. He realizes, from seeing Jaskier standing in the sunlight, that he is attracted to him.

But attraction does not need to equal action, and he will keep it that way. He doesn’t know the man, only that his world is much bigger and brighter than his own. The darkened doorsteps of Geralt’s life don’t mix with pretty things, and Jaskier is a very, very, pretty thing.

So, Geralt will lock tight the niggling feeling of want into the back of his mind, into a box, where he won’t dwell on it or acknowledge its existence.

“It’s breakfast Jaskier. Follow me if you want to eat.” He grunts, abruptly turning away to walk to the dining hall. Light footsteps follow his own, thankfully accompanied by blessed silence until in true fashion, Jaskier breaks it.

“Geralt, is your chest bothering you? Because I have this lovely remedy that might—”

The witcher pauses, frowning at where his hand has gone of its own accord. He didn’t put it over his soul mark. He wasn’t even aware it was inflamed. And now with his attention drawn to it, it burns a storm.

“Fuck.”

The scent of sandalwood and mint doesn’t help either.  

 

 


 

 

Jaskier watches Geralt like a hawk, as the man goes before him. He didn’t think he was capable of wearing anything other than black (a lovely shade on him he notes) and while he, himself, would never choose to put him in red he quite appreciates the tightness of the shirt. And the pants.

Gods, he has a lovely bottom. And arms. And thighs. And really just the whole figure makes Jaskier drool in delight. Though he wishes Geralt would take him up on his offered remedy. Perhaps by rubbing it in he can rub some other things.

Alas.

A loud sound erupts from his stomach and he clutches it sheepishly, awkwardly grinning at Geralt when he turns. “Sorry. Haven’t eaten in a bit. I am truly famished.”

“Hm.”

Right. The man speaks in nothing but grunts and growls. Well that’s fine, he supposes. Jaskier certainly has a large enough vocabulary for the both of them. Though, he wouldn’t mind Geralt using his words.

Perhaps waxing him with poetry as Jaskier lounges in a chemise, with his head in the man’s lap as those sturdy fingers stroke his hair. What a fantastic image.

“You alright?”

“Peachy my dear.”

Geralt grunts once more before opening the doors to, what Jaskier presumes, is the location of breakfast. He hasn’t paid attention to the route (which will bite him in the ass later most likely but…Geralt’s fingers) due to his ogling. Which he has absolutely no issue with doing again. The man deserves odes of his beauty sung around the continent.

Perhaps that shall be what Jaskier composes next. A thrill goes down his spine at the idea and he welcomes it as an old friend. He misses his musical inclinations. Late nights writing down prose against candlelight (ambience matters, and he’ll have no one tell him otherwise), strumming strings loosely as the sounds weave together a melody long forgotten, and lust-filled eyes from a serenade filled with flowery words.

Gods, he really does miss his music.

“Coming Jaskier?”

Jaskier’s name rolling off Geralt’s tongue is like a finely tuned symphony in its peak performance, enrapturing Jaskier from his own thoughts. It makes him weak in the knees and if he were a worse man, he’d drop to the ground unable to get up, feigning fatigue so he could be carried bridal style.

But he knows his boundaries, more interested in gaining Geralt’s companionship for now (though that won’t stop his shameless flirting) than falling prey to his dramatics. So, he refutes the urge to play damsel in distress and merely smiles charmingly. “Absolutely. Now, Geralt, I am curious. What kind of food is usually served at Kaer Morhen? Do you have servants? Or do you yourselves cook?”

He chatters away as they enter, only to be greeted by a long table with several individuals sitting around it. The only one he recognizes is Yennefer, who raises an eyebrow and she makes a wicked grin with her lips. “Our sleeping beauty has finally awoken from her slumber?”

“All the better to radiate my good looks my dear.”

She snorts. “Yes. Crow’s feet are quite the allure.”

Jaskier’s hand shoots to the crinkles of his eyes, scanning the skin and finding no such thing. It’s a smooth as a baby’s bottom and the witch knows this.

“You wish you had my velvety lush.”

She doesn’t dignify that with a response, choosing instead to ignore his barb in favour of speaking with an older gentleman at the head of the table, gray hair pulled back into a short ponytail and a navy-blue cardigan buttoned up right to the top.

Jaskier finds him dashing, like an old grandpa whose favourite place is the rocking chair by the fire with a good book. His expression is stern as he looks at Yennefer, the pair deep in discussion and lost to the rest of the table.

And speaking of the rest of the table, Jaskier sees four more people. A redhead is beside Yennefer, wearing a marigold coloured dress with short, puffy sleeves, while across from her is a man who rivals Geralt’s own bulk. His hair is light brown with deep golden eyes, and he wears flannel, grinning jovially as he speaks with the ginger. To his right sits a man who strongly reminds Jaskier of the grumpy cat (but he’ll remain silent on that observation as to not incur the man’s wrath) who seems to wear a large jacket with a hoodie coming out of it.

The person who piques his interest the most though (besides Geralt) is a little girl, no more than the age of twelve he muses, who sits beside the redhead woman. Her locks are platinum blond and the longest of the group. Besides Yennefer, she clearly has the most fashion sense for someone her age, choosing a cute white tee with a simple necklace.

Jaskier very much approves and decides then that he’ll sit beside the girl. But when he takes a step forward, Geralt grunts and moves him to the seat beside the man in plaid as he takes the seat beside the girl.

Normally Jaskier would scoff and insult someone who dared to do such a thing, but this is Geralt, and well, he touched him, willingly, so he’ll let it slide.

“Hello Jaskier.” The redhead woman speaks, her eyes a bright blue and twinkling. “Welcome to Kaer Morhen! You slept for quite a bit there. I’m Triss.”

“Ah! You’re the healer witch. Geralt mentioned you when,” Jaskier waves his hand, “Everything occurred. Now, when he says healer does that mean you flick your wrist and everything’s fixed bodily wise or is it more of an alchemy practice?”

“Wow. Okay. Not gonna to lie, little impressed you actually know anything about healing magic.”

“Oxenfurt darling. They don’t skimp on the details.”

“Ah. That makes sense. Your second guess was right by the way.”

“Gruesome business I’d imagine.”

“Exactly. Wow. I really wasn’t expecting you to be like this. Geralt and Yen didn’t say much when you all had arrived through the portal.”

“We came through a portal? And I missed that? A travesty! How did that happen?

“You passed out from exhaustion when the adrenaline finally wore off. Had to carry you through.” Geralt answers but does not look up, his focus on devouring his food.

A shiver goes through Jaskier as he gets a mental image of Geralt holding him exactly how he wants, walking into the bedroom and laying him down gently, perhaps stroking the hair from his face before tucking him in. If only.

“Well, that explains that then.”

A tray of food appears before him, letting him groan in delight as the aroma of an English breakfast wafts through his nose.

“Careful there. Any louder and you’ll have the whole table moaning.”

Jaskier turns to look at the man beside him, who is visibly amused. “Sorry. Haven’t eaten in quite a bit and I am utterly starved. You know, I’ve never taking food for granted again. Two days without eating is a perversion of epic proportions. And I’m sure having the whole table being in utter bliss would be an upgrade from their petulance. I have yet to hear Geralt doing anything but groan.”

The gentleman barks out a laugh. “Well Geralt, he’s got you pegged. I’m Eskel by the way.”

“Jaskier.”

“Nice to meet you Jaskier.” The pair shake hands. “Ciri tells me your famous or something?”

Jaskier frowns before he clues into who Eskel is referring to. The girl’s eyes are owlish at him, spoon in her mouth from eating but he recognizes something in her. Something all too familiar.

It feels like the same kind of magic that had encompassed him and Geralt in that fateful moment. But it isn’t just her presence that registers with him, but her name. He knows he’s heard it somewhere before.

“Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon.” He mutters to himself, the name coming forth from his memory as he taps his cheek in thought. He shrugs, eager to resume his eating. Jaskier looks to grab his utensils, only to see everyone staring at him.

He didn’t think he had been very loud, but the whole table is frozen. Yen’s gaze is sharp, Triss’s larger than before, Geralt’s doing something with his eyes, and the older man has a shrewd angle to his stare. Ciri meanwhile, simply looks curious.

“Uh…was I not supposed to know that?”

“How?” asks Yennefer, her eyes blazing purple and Jaskier is quite afraid that she’ll rip him to shreds just for knowing who Ciri is. Which he is quickly finding out is not common information.

He pauses, index finger tapping the dimple in his chin. “Well, the name certainly isn’t popular, and the reputation of the royals has undoubtedly been skewed about since the rise of mutant rights, though as to what civilization counts as mutants has much to be desired. Nevertheless, when I visited the court of Cintra for some artist shindig, I don’t remember much of that night other than this particular incident to be honest, myself and Priscilla may have indulged a bit too much in the freedom of the beverages they were serving? And well, one thing led to another, and next thing we knew we were in Calanthe’s study being lectured by some man, who, if I’m being honest, resembled a mouse. But that’s besides the point. He was saying things about our manners and how rude it was to not follow conduct, which is never fun so why do it, and then enters in the queen herself, who was also quite mad from enjoying the delicacies of Cintran wine, and then through the power of song, Priscilla and I are quite good at what we do, she starts lamenting about the law of surprise and how she misses her family, including her granddaughter, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon or Ciri, for short. And then she started spieling racism about elves, mutants and anything that doesn’t, in her opinion, qualify as human but by that point Priscilla and I were, very much so, done with the conversation. So, ah, that’s where I heard it. She didn’t mention anything about her being here though. Just that she misses her.”

No one says anything, taking in everything that Jaskier said until the man on the other side of Eskel speaks.

“Who the fuck is this guy again? Because holy shit.  Does he ever shut up?”

That seems to ease the tension amongst the group at the table, thank god, because Jaskier, for a moment, genuinely thought he had fucked up somehow. Luckily, that does not seem to be the case.

“The name is Jaskier darling. And you are?”

“Lambert you fucker. Yeah, I’m out. I’m too old for this shit. You all can figure this out on your own.”

The man leaves as quickly as he can, all eyes watching him go before resuming themselves onto Jaskier. “So, you and Calanthe?” asks Triss tentatively.

“Nothing more than a drun—I mean, passing ships in the night. Professionally of course.”

“Good. One less thing to worry about then.” nods Yennefer. “We certainly don’t need to add any more complications to our current situation.”

Well, that’s that then.

“Speaking of that, can someone please tell me what happened because while it was—”

“Ciri, why don’t you go do your homework now. Eskel will help you.” Geralt finally speaks after being silent for the entire conversation, rudely interrupting Jaskier, who watches as the man fondly strokes her head despite her obvious huff of exasperation.

“Fine. But don’t think I don’t know this is because you’re having some adult conversation you think I’m too young for which I’m not.

Ciri.” Both Geralt and Yennefer say at the same time which confirms Jaskier’s suspicions about the girl’s guardians. A little part of him sighs in sadness, knowing now that the pair are an item and any chance of him having Geralt has evaporated.

That is the true heartbreak. But Jaskier plasters a smile on anyway as if nothing is wrong until he feels a pensive gaze on his ear. His eyes stray to the elder at the end of the table, who stares at him with a knowing look that Jaskier is very much not liking.

Eskel pats Jaskier’s shoulder, making his little staring contest with the senior disappear. “We’ll see you around then?”

“Of course. I’m not going anywhere. I’m a kept man you see.” He winks. A growl is heard across the way (please, oh Melitele please, let that have been Geralt) but Jaskier ignores it in favour of watching Eskel’s eyes crinkle in delight. “You’re going to bring a lot of fun to this place I’ll tell you that. Alright Ciri, let’s take a look at your work yeah?”

“Can we spar instead?”

“If you finish your homework, we can do a few practice rounds.”

“Promise not to go easy on me?”

“When do I ever?”

“I’m not dignifying that with a response because it is, obviously, a lie.

He watches the pair leave through a different door than Lambert. Now, all that remains is himself, Triss who smiles prettily at him (maybe he can woo her. This place might be a tad bit too lonely otherwise), Geralt, Yennefer and the older man at the end.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I got your name. An error on my part.”

“Vesemir, my dear boy. I apologize your stuck here with us for a bit. Rest assured, there is no safer place on the continent than here. You’ll be protected until we sort the attempt on your life.”

“I have no doubt.”

Vesemir nods resolutely, before he exchanges a look with Yennefer. She returns it with her own acknowledgement, pulling away from the table and flushing her dress behind her. “Vesemir and I are going to run some tests with Geralt in the lab. Triss, can you bring Jaskier around in an hour and answer any questions he may have?”

“Of course.” Triss places a hand on Yennefer’s and squeezes gently. Jaskier’s eyebrows raise themselves to new heights. What an interesting development. Perhaps not all is lost to the terrifyingly gorgeous sorceress.

Maybe she and Geralt aren’t together? Oh Jaskier hopes so.

Vesemir, Yennefer and Geralt leave, but not without the white wolf glancing back, eyes reflecting a concern in them. It’s as if he’s afraid to leave Jaskier alone. What a silly notion. Like Vesemir said, Jaskier is the safest here in the keep. Nothing can possibly get to him.  

“Geralt. Stop looking like a wounded dog. He’ll be fine. Go.” Triss shoos him away, chuckling as he scampers off. “Gods, they call him the big bad wolf but he’s nothing more than a little puppy.”

“Oooo you should tell him that. I’m sure he’d adore the comparison.”

“Jaskier, I think you and I are going to get along quite well.”

“It was never in doubt my dear. Now, Yennefer said you might be able to give some answers? Because since I am splendidly full, the food was marvelous by the way, I do find myself completely flummoxed with what happened at Comic-Con.”

“You got it. What do you want to know?”

“Yennefer referred to an anchor bond? What is that exactly? Because I know of soulmate bonds, but this seems like something else entirely.”

“It is and it isn’t. What do you know about witchers?”

“Well, I watched the docuseries on them but after meeting this group I’m quite confident it’s not entirely accurate.”

Triss snorts. “That’s the nice way of putting it. Okay. You know that witchers are humans who were given mutagens correct?”

“I do now.”

She grins. “Witchers aren’t born with their abilities. They’re born human and through some sort of circumstance, are given to the Witcher’s council to become a witcher. Most are lost babes abandoned by their parents or a result of the law of surprise.”

“Completely archaic form of practice that should be banned.”

“You’re right on that front. Though sometimes it is for the best.”

Jaskier wonders who Triss thinks of fondly in her gaze as she mentions it. Perhaps she herself is a child of surprise. It seems unlikely though.

“Anyway, so they are all human when they begin the process of becoming witchers. The method is excruciating though. There are several trials, the most notable being the Trial of the Grasses.”

“Why is that the most noteworthy?”

“Because it implements the mutagens into their bodies. And removes their soul marks.”

Oh. Oh fuck. Jaskier’s eyes go wide. He’s heard of people removing their soul marks fully, it’s agony for those who do it. Jaskier was barely able to go through getting rid of his. Even now the scar still remind him of the pain. It’s why he wears such a heavy glamour. Well, one of the reasons.

“That’s absolutely horrifying. Why?

“Because it’s a weakness having a soulmate for a witcher. The life of one doesn’t call for it. It can’t. All that the bond entails can lead to severe consequences. Witchers compromising their path to save one soul. The mate getting killed in the crossfire. The path of a witcher isn’t an easy one to walk. They can’t afford distractions.”

“Surely a soul mate wouldn’t be that bad. A form of comfort for them. There are good things that come from the bond.”

“I know. And the council knew that too. But rather than having a soul bond, the council, along with the Brotherhood, created anchors.”

“The Brotherhood?”

“Mhm. The brotherhood of sorcerers.”

“Never heard of them.”

“You wouldn’t of. They died off a long time ago. Now, because witchers lost their soulmates from the Trial of the Grasses, they were given anchor bonds as a replacement.”

“And what is an anchor bond?”

“An anchor bond is the link between a witcher and an individual, usually one of immense power whether magical or physical, in which the individual anchors the witcher in moment of crisis.”

“I’m not following.”

“Okay. Let’s say Geralt was in a fight with a monster. In order to enhance their mutagens, witchers have potions they can use to make them more successful in a fight. So, if Geralt drank these potions, he turns more feral. That’s a common side effect of them. So, he’s fighting a creature, kills it, and now has these fairly toxic potions in his system that are still going strong. It’s like running on a really intense adrenaline high. He’s a bit more animalistic, relying on instinct rather than logic. Yennefer then appears, his anchor, and through the bond can direct him to some normalcy. She can’t control him, the bond isn’t meant to do that, only calm him down. Bring him back to himself. He’ll still be running high on his potions, still all dark and feral, but at least now he can think things through rationally.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“Smart man. Yes, since anchor bonds aren’t soul ones, they aren’t as strong. If it fails, the other individual can use their abilities to knock them out, so the potions can run their course while they’re unconscious. It’s why when making an anchor, you want the anchor to be more powerful than your average human. It increases the chances of the bond working when it needs to because anchor bonds are as strong as the chaos the anchor has.”

“Who is Eskel’s anchor?”

“I am. And Lambert’s is Vesemir. He’s retired, so he no longer uses the potions.”

“Fascinating.”

“It can be. But now you see our problem.”

“Yennefer and Geralt are no longer bound.”

“Correct. Yennefer, who is the most powerful sorceress on the continent, is no longer the anchor for Geralt, the most powerful witcher on the continent.”

“High praise.”

“His hair isn’t white naturally Jaskier. He went through more mutagens than your average witcher. He’s a special kind of different.”

Jaskier takes this all in, scratching his chin in thought. “So, Yennefer and Geralt are no longer bound. Can’t you just recreate it? Bind them again?”

“No. Because anchor bonds can only break if a new anchor has been introduced. The chaos in these bonds is exceedingly temperamental.”

“Hence the need for a strong anchor. One of greater power than the average human.”

“Exactly.”

“So, someone else is bound to Geralt. And that compromises his work, because he is no longer anchored down by someone who equals his own strength.”

“Yes.”

“Wonder who the new anchor is then. Are they just as strong?”

Triss looks at him pointedly, waiting for him to come to the realization. It takes a few, before Jaskier is exclaiming, “Oh! Oh. Oh no. No Triss this—what? You can’t be serious.”

“Jas, we’d have sent you home with a shadow if we thought you weren’t the new anchor and only some klutz who had a hit on them.”

“But how? I didn’t—"

“Come on. We need to start making our way to the lab. Yen and Vesemir will explain it further.”

“Bloody buggering fuck.

“Yeah. It’s a bit of a shit storm isn’t it?”

 

 


 

 

Geralt sits on a table in Vesemir’s lab, hooked up to several machines, wires strewn about. Yen is waving her hands around, eyes glowing and muttering to herself diagnostic spells. Vesemir only stares at his machines, reading whatever is coming through.

Geralt has always hated this part. There’s never much to do, only sitting and waiting.

“Well, the bond is definitely gone. But you’re still linked to someone.”

“Jaskier.”

“Yes.”

Geralt sighs, eyes fluttering shut with the onslaught of understanding. Fuck. “How?”

Yennefer frowns, her hand pressed to her forehead. “I have no fucking clue.”

“Perhaps you should tell us what happened pup.” Vesemir gives his do as your told look to Geralt, making no room for argument.

“I was on my way to get Jaskier after the signing. When I arrived backstage, he was gone. So, I asked around and one of his co-stars said he went off with the doppler. The idiot of course had no idea what the girl was. But I knew he was in trouble.”

“How?” Yennefer crosses her arms.

“Gut instinct.”

“Uh huh. What happened next?”

“I followed the path she pointed and then I saw him, with the doppler holding a blade to his neck. He was bleeding. It’s dark after that. I only came to when you healed him.”

“Well, that tells us nothing. Vesemir, any ideas?”

“I believe we will need to hear Jaskier’s perspective to start exploring this further. Your charts aren’t revealing anything out of the ordinary. Can you note if anything unusual happened Geralt?”

“No.”

“Actually, come to think of it, you went into witcher mode, without the potions. It was when Jaskier touched you that the effects started to wear off.” states Yennefer.

“Then something must have happened before to trigger the break in the bond and the transfer.” muses Vesemir, now analyzing the charts again.

“His mark has also been acting up.”

Vesemir’s head shoots away from the screen to Yennefer. “Strange.”

“Geralt, tell Vesemir what you told me.”

“It itches.”

“All the time?”

“No.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“Helpful as always aren’t you. Well, Triss should be here soon with our guest. We’ll see what we get from him. Go make yourself useful boy.”

With that, Vesemir leaves the duo. Yennefer sighs, removing the wires attached to him. Geralt just remains a big grump, not happy with the continued unknowns. “I hate this.”

“Yes, relying on a total stranger for support must be a horror.”

“Yen…” he growls.

“What? Jaskier may never shut up but there are certainly worse people to be attached to.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

“It just…it feels…”

She sighs. “I know. I feel it too. I feel like I’ve lost something. I can’t sense you anymore. I imagine for you, the bond, it resonates differently now since it’s no longer attached to me.”

“Hm.”

“A new anchor will take some getting used to. I just wish we knew why it happened. What possibly could have made it switch. I know the anchors were an experimentation. Stregbor was trying to figure out how to replicate the magic behind soulmates. It’s such finicky magic though. Unpredictable.”

“Wait. Stregbor was the one behind the anchors? I never knew that.”

“Well, it wasn’t common knowledge. He was so invested in creating the perfect mate when he was hired by the council. But, because Stregbor is a psychotic asshole who has no limits, he wanted to go further with the anchor bonds. Wanted to make them control units.”

Fuck.”

“Exactly. But he vanished after the council found out what he was up to.”

“Hm. They stop making anchors when he left?”

“No. They kept going. You’re cohort was the last group to be linked to anyone. When the witcher schools were attacked, all the information was lost in the chaos.”

“Hm. Any idea where Stregbor is now?”

“Hopefully dead in a ditch somewhere. No one’s heard from him in ages since he disappeared.”  

“Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“Indeed.”

The pair sit beside one another in silence, letting the strange camaraderie settle on their shoulders and sink into their minds. With them being no longer be linked, it will be a strange new time for the two.

“So, you and Triss?”

“None of your fucking business.”

Geralt laughs, Yennefer joining in, both finding a peculiar freedom in no longer being anchored to the other. Their link may be gone and Geralt will miss it, but he truly believes it might be for the best.

“Well, whatever it is. I’m happy for you.”

“Me too.”

“Ciri says she’s excited to call her mom.”

Fuck. She told you?”

Geralt shrugs. “You throw her on me every morning. Seems fair.”

“Me sending our daughter to wake you up and her spilling my relationship is not the same thing.”

“She’s twelve. It’s all relative to her.”

“Oh! And when did mister ‘two words is my limit’ suddenly become a wise old sage?”

“Fuck off.”

Yennefer cackles. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

The quiet comes back, more pleasant than before as the pair continue to sit. “So, what are you going to do with our little house guest?”

“Me?”

“Yes you. You’re the one whose anchored to him.”

“Fuck.” Geralt drags his hands down his face. “Don’t remind me.”

“It won’t be that bad. Besides, I heard the growl at breakfast when he got friendly with Eskel.”

“We’re not doing this.”

“Oh, so you can ask about Triss, but I can’t ask about your little actor?”

“Fuck no. There’s nothing to discuss.”

“Maybe I’ll just get Ciri to do the dirty work.”

“Yen…” he snarls.

“Fine, fine. You’ll figure it out eventually, even if you are a clueless idiot most of the time. But Geralt, I’m serious. He’s new, in a strange place, ripped away from his life. He has no friends, no family to talk to. He’s going to need someone.”

“Hm.”

“Look, whatever magic caused the switch, it somehow thinks he’s a good anchor for you. Gods knows why. Destiny is fickle but its rarely wrong. If anyone can make him feel more comfortable, it’ll be you.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. He’ll need to have the patience of a saint to deal with you.”

 

 


 

 

When Jaskier arrives at the lab, Geralt is gone, only Yennefer and Vesemir standing in the room. Triss grins, gives him a quick peck on the cheek with a faint whisper of good luck before disappearing back the way they came.

He can feel his nerves etched onto his skin in clammy hands and he cannot pinpoint the reason why he’s so anxious.

“Relax. We’re not going to hurt you.” Yennefer rolls her eyes. “Just sit on the table and remove your shirt.”

He does as she asks, Vesemir places various wires to his skin as soon as the clothing is removed. He grimaces, the feeling of it uncomfortable. It’s like little suction cups nipping his skin. Yennefer begins whatever it is she planned on doing, her hands waving around as her mouth moves, sputtering words too quickly for Jaskier to pick up. But he hears the dulcet tone in her voice. It is cool, coaxing out whatever is in him that she’s looking for to come forward. But her face then furrows, the brow tenses, and her arms drop.

“Something’s blocking me.”

Vesemir pauses his work, looking between the two. “I do believe our boy here isn’t all what he seems.”

Those gentle gold eyes land on him again and Jaskier now recognizes why the elder had been so curious at him during breakfast. Why his eyes lingered on him. He knows.

“He’s not human. Fuck. I should’ve seen that.”

“A rather powerful glamour if I say so myself. Unable to be detected by the strongest of chaos unless it has been seen by the user themself. You build that yourself?”

“My…mother taught me.”

“Hm. Jaskier, I know this is all very strange and foreign to you. But for us to find the root of the problem, we will need you to remove it. Can you do that son?”

Jaskier glances between the two and sees no danger to be had. He breathes deeply, eyes fluttering shut as he releases the glamour. The chaos in him ripples, the glamour falling away like a gentle breeze kissing the grass.

Holy shit.” Yennefer states.

“Mhm.” agrees Vesemir. Jaskier opens his eyes, taking in the sheer flabbergasted look on the witch’s face. A wave of smugness rolls through him. When his glamour gone, his is quite the specimen.

“He’s an elf.”

“Half.”

“Well, that certainly explain some things.” says Yennefer, trying not to look slightly interested in his fae features.

“Like a lack of crow’s feet?”

“You would bring that up. We’ve still got some tests to do so don’t get too cocky.”

“Well, lay it on me then.”

The duo work diligently. Vesemir stares at the screen and absorbs the content, Yennefer moves around, throwing her hands to and fro, while mumbling spells. There is a beauty in the way the pair co-exists, Jaskier thinks. They do not seem the kind to be harmonious, but he can see the similar burning desire to know in them. Can hear it in the words they use, the language they possess. It is admirable, and Jaskier can feel a melody begin to unravel in his head, something with a slow beat, perhaps classical, some woodwinds and strings, a duet.

After this he’ll need some pen and paper. And a guitar. Maybe he can get Eskel or Geralt to find it for him.

“Jaskier, what is this?”

Yennefer grabs his right arm, twisting it to show the burned scar that stretches from the inside of his wrist up to the crook in his elbow.

“Ah. Well, that my lovely, would be my soul mark.”

“What?” she whispers in shock. She takes a closer look at it, brows furrowed. Vesemir leaves his task to join in the commotion.

“Son, what did you do?”

Jaskier bites his lip. How does he tell this story without his heart breaking again? He knows he must, but perhaps, not the whole truth.

“I’ve had a few too many encounters with people lying to me. I…couldn’t trust what it said. So, in a fit of rage, I…I burned it.”

Yennefer nor Vesemir say anything, only look to Jaskier in a deep sadness. The sorceress sighs, brining her eyes back to the scar, her brow wrinkling. “It’s still black though.”

“Yes, well, I haven’t met them, have I? And if I have, they certainly have shown no interest in me, so, it won’t ever fade. Just because you try to ruin a mark doesn’t mean the chaos behind it still won’t work.”

Yennefer gives him an incredulous look until it becomes wide with comprehension. “Vesemir, do you think?”

“It would make sense. If it’s the case…”

“It would redefine the entire thing.”

“Care to tell me what’s going on there in your bright minds? Hello? Poor little elf boy here wondering what exactly is going on.”

“Half.”

“Oh fuck you.”

She grins. “I think, we may have figured out what happened with the anchoring.”

Jaskier’s perks up. “Really?”

“Yes. Vesemir, care to test out the theory?”

“As long as we don’t burn down the keep.”

“Unlikely. Come Jaskier.”

“I’m not your dog thank you very much. You could say please.”

“Do you really think you’re in a place to be making demands?”

“As the one who was dragged here without an input, I think I’m allowed a little pampering.”

Her response is only to raise an eyebrow, before shaking her head in mirth and walking out the door. “Follow me or I’ll make you.”

“Insufferable wench.” Jaskier mutters under his breath as he follows her out. He picks up his pace to catch her, wondering how in the blazing hell she moves like a cheetah in stilettos.

“Where are we going?”

“To the training grounds.”

“You’re going to make me do something physical?”

“Hardly. We just need the space. Besides, you couldn’t keep up with the witchers.”

“Normally, I’d refute that but in this particular case I think your quite right.”

“Glad we’re in agreement then.”

“I’m sure it won’t last.”

“I hope not.”

Jaskier grins wickedly at Yennefer. She returns the favour.

Oh, he thinks, they may actually get along swimmingly.

 

 


 

 

Geralt is in his room wiping down his blades when Vesemir finds him. He hears the man approaching long before he arrives, but he doesn’t bother to put away his sword. It’s a comfortable habit, making them pristine, and Vesemir understands the meditative ease the action can bring.

“Pup, we may have figured it out. Training grounds, now.”

He leaves as quick as he came. Geralt sets aside his equipment, his mind curious as to what they have decided the cause was, but also a tad worried. If they’re testing out the theory, then there is no actual evidence to the case, and Geralt isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not.

He makes his way to the grounds and there he finds Yennefer speaking with Jaskier, an easy smile on her face as if she enjoys the man’s company. There is a slight relief to know that he won’t need to intervene between the two if they’re on friendly terms. Vesemir meanwhile approaches the group, coughing to gain their attention.

“Why are we here Vesemir?” grunts out Geralt, taking in Jaskier who seems…nervous? He steps slightly closer to him, Yen’s words echoing from earlier. Jaskier shoots him a small smile and Geralt’s heart flutters.

To which he locks in a box far in the back of his mind of things not to ever think about. His attention goes from Jaskier’s lips to Vesemir.

“Yennefer and I have come to the conclusion that the reason the anchor has switched is because the two of you are soulmates.”

The box decimates.

Geralt freezes, daring his eyes at Jaskier. The man is doing the same and the pair stare at one another in utter shock. A charge sparks between the two, Geralt feeling it prickle underneath his skin with the cornflower blues on him. He rips his gaze away.

“That’s impossible. Witchers don’t have soulmates.” The words are weak out of his mouth. Fuck.

“Yes, but your mark never disappeared after the Trial of the Grasses like the others. And Jaskier’s is normally covered by his glamour.”

Wait. Glamour?

“His what?”

“Jaskier is half-elf Geralt. Did you not notice?” Yennefer’s entire aura is condescending upon Geralt’s revelation. No, he didn’t, but now that he dwells on it, the signs were there. The pointed ears he thought he saw in the fading sunlight after the doppler, the too blue eyes, the lack of blemish for a twenty-eight-year-old.

“Hm.”

“How do you know? Surely, it’s just guess. Is there actually a way to prove it? That we are…soulmates?”

“What do your words say.” asks Geralt, finding himself incredibly intent on knowing what the answer will be. Will it be what Geralt first said to him? What did he first say to him?  

“I don’t know. I don’t remember them.”

What?

“But your mark…” Geralt feels his head spin.

“Is burned to a crisp. And yours Geralt, is scarred from a blade. What are the odds that the pair of you would both have damaged marks?” Yennefer looks far too smug about this.

“The two of you hid your marks from the world for personal reasons. But it is certainly a strange coincidence that now you are tethered to a man who is half-elf, perfectly capable of being a witcher’s companion due to his own elongated lifespan, unusual senses and who destroyed his own mark. Destiny has tied you to him my boy.”

“While we have no way to prove you two are soulmates, if you are it would explain why the anchor switched. Elves are creatures of chaos, so Jaskier’s blood would have awakened the bond upon meeting, and then your own chaos would’ve responded in kind. My guess is the moment you saw Jaskier dying, that snapped the bond in place. That was the catalyst.” Yennefer looks between the two.

Vesemir continues on, “As you know Geralt, and you shall know too now Jaskier, soulmate magic is very old and not much is known how it works. The anchor bonds are man’s attempt to recreate the link, but it is no replacement for the real thing. I would imagine, a true soulmate bond would remove an anchor bond quite easily, as the chaos is not fabricated.”

“But there is no definite way to prove this.” repeats Jaskier. Geralt glances over to see how the actor is doing, and he looks like he’s about to pass out.

Of course. He doesn’t want to be tied down to a witcher. He’s probably thinking of a million other things he’d rather be stuck with, Geralt being at the very bottom.

But before Geralt can spiral into a pit of self doubt, a primal instinct tugs at his mind. His chest hurts. He can’t pin the reason why it does, why it seems to be so irritating. He rubs it, hoping to sooth the discomfort until he gets a whiff of a sour note. His nose scrunches, identifying the smell as a ripe lemon. Someone is worried. And that worry makes him feel a strong desire to comfort.

Fucking hell.

He looks over to Jaskier, who still appears ill.  A deep urge in Geralt says Jaskier needs care. Needs to be safe. And that if he makes the actor feel good, his own irritation will go away. So, Geralt moves himself to wrap an arm around the man. When he does, he is pleased to find that Jaskier is surprisingly tall, almost Geralt’s height, and rather than pulling away as if being burned, the man leans into him for the support.

The itchiness of his scar fades away.

Yennefer and Vesemir watch with interest as the whole thing occurs. Geralt wants to growl at them that this isn’t a show, but even he is starting to think there may be something to their theory which, fuck. 

“I propose a test of sorts.” The sorceress claps her hands together. “I’m going to attack Jaskier with my magic. Vesemir will be off to the side to observe Geralt. Jaskier, if things get dicey, trust you instinct.”

 “Alright.”

“The goal is to see how Geralt reacts.”

“Yen, I don’t think—”

“Of course you don’t, but I don’t see you coming up with any better ideas.”

“Fine.” Geralt lets go of Jaskier who stumbles for a moment, quickly righting himself as if he never tripped in the first place. The witcher stalks away till Vesemir signals he’s far enough, and he watches.

It’s like a nightmare coming to life.

He sees Yennefer’s magic crackle in her fingertips. Jaskier stands, his expression growing wide upon the increasing size of the chaos and when his eyes turn to Geralt, they are large, horribly so and something inside Geralt snaps.

Jaskier is afraid. Jaskier is in danger.

The mutagens kick in, his eyes going obsidian black, veins crashing forth, his skin dropping its pigment to ghostly white. He rushes towards Yennefer, but he doesn’t recognize her. All he sees is someone trying to kill Jaskier and he cannot let that happen.

He tackles her to the ground, pushing her as far in as he can. One hand pins her to the grass, squeezing tightly around her throat. The other is raised in a fist, ready to throw the first punch until limber fingers gently wrap themselves around his wrist. The scent of sandalwood and mint burrows its way into him. He calms, getting off the sorceress and bringing his attention to the scent of his mate.

Jaskier is safe. Geralt kept him safe.

Cornflower blues stare brightly at him, shushing noises being spoken in adoration and a palm is placed on his chest. He can feel the warmth radiate from it, his heart beat according to its direction. He leans his forehead to Jaskier’s, focusing all his energy onto him, his anchor.

“Well, I think that answers that. Vesemir?” Yennefer rasps.

The spell is broken again. Geralt tears himself away from Jaskier now that he’s come back to himself and he misses the hurt on the actor’s face.

“Fuck.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Fuck.”

“Indeed. I think we will need to keep testing this bond.” Vesemir jots something down on his notepad.

Yennefer looks over to the elder. “How long do you think?”

“Twenty-one days should suffice.”

Twenty-one days?” wheezes Jaskier. “Are you mad?”

“Are you going anywhere my boy?”

“Ah well,” the actor scratches his head, “No.”

“Then it’s settled. The next twenty-one days will be gruelling but necessary. We’re going to figure out everything this bond has to offer and what exactly it entails.”

 

 


Outfit Inspirations: 

 

Jaskier: 

 

Geralt: 

 

Yennefer: 

 

Vesemir: 

 

Ciri: 

 

Triss: 

 

Eskel: 

 

Lambert: 

 

Notes:

Chapter 3 will be posted by August 17. Or earlier. I'm flexible. ;)

Song rec for this chapter is Take My Hand by Lastlings. Anything to do with the chapter? Nope. Just the jam that was on repeat to get me through.

And as always, outfit inspirations because who doesn't pretty people?

Chapter 3: Takes Twenty-One Days To Form A Habit

Notes:

Well, not gonna lie, did NOT expect chapter 3 to be done this quick. But, I'm insatiable and stuck at home so...

In this house, we stan HEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN PEOPLE. Seriously, I enjoy some angst now and again with the occasional emotional constipation but at some point, communication is really HOT.

Thank you all for the comments and kudos! You are, by far, the BEST. I adore you lot a whole bunch!

So, without further ado, here's Chapter 3 where our boys be dumb, but eventually kinda get their shit together? Though, this is Jaskier and Geralt we're talking about...

Enjoy lovelies!

P.S. Y'all seem to adore Protective!Geralt so I hope this suffices. Also, I own nothing and like a removing an ex, kicked the canon to the curb. ;)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Batshit

Chapter 3: Takes Twenty-One Days To Form A Habit

“now that i know you exist,
how do i not love you”
― butterflies rising

 

And so, it begins.

 

 


 

 

Day 1.

“Jaskier, why are you wearing silk?

“Yennefer, darling, out of all of the people here in this keep, surely you understand the importance of appearance.”

“Not when it’s impractical.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what that word means.”

“It means you’re an idiot and you’re going to ruin your pathetic attempt at peacocking.”

Excuse you, I’ll have you know my garments are exquisite. And as if you’re one to talk! You’re wearing a leather pantsuit! Which you look absolutely fetching in by the way, why if I wasn’t—”

“You’re not talking your way out of this Jaskier.”

“Balls.”

“And besides, I’m not the one who will be running around.”

What? What happened to—"

The bickering voices fade as Geralt closes his eyes, tuning them out. His fingers grip his nose, trying to get some semblance of calm in him before the day begins.

He’s still wrestling with the idea of having a soulmate. Yesterday, he had tucked away the thought of Jaskier as a potential something in his life because people like him don’t date witchers. Now, that box has been blown wide open, the thoughts held in it scattered all around.

He’s noticing things before he had been avidly avoiding. Like how Jaskier’s blue shirt with white stripes brightens his cornflower irises.

Or how the fact that with it being fairly unbuttoned, his shirt reveals a chest that is, surprisingly, hairy, with dusty brown curls. How his pecs harden underneath when a faint wind brushes past him. His lean frame that makes his shirt billow as he laughs.

There have been many physical things that Geralt did not want to notice. And now, he can’t fucking stop.

“Everything alright pup?”

Vesemir appears beside Geralt, hand gently resting on his shoulder. All the tension (he didn’t realize he had been so tightly wound) releases. “I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re about to snap someone’s neck. I know our guest is a bit of a gabber, but I think you can resist killing him for the next while.”

Geralt grinds his teeth at the idea of something ending Jaskier’s life. It’s not a pleasant thought. Vesemir gives pause, allowing him the opportunity to say something (the old man must see the inner turmoil) but he doesn’t know how to word what’s going on inside his mind. How Vesemir’s little revelation has shaken Geralt to his core.

“Vesemir! It’s good to see you! By gods you look positively dashing. The cardigan suits you. Brings out the gold in your eyes. You appreciate style, don’t you good sir? Can you kindly tell Yennefer to fuck off? The wench keeps saying my outfit is a faux pas.”

“It is you moron.”

Hurtful. And here I thought we’d finally come to an accord.”

She snorts while rolling her eyes. “God you’re dramatic. Vesemir, Geralt, are you two ready?”

“I am. Geralt?” Vesemir stares at him with his all too knowing eyes. If Geralt could get headaches, he’s confident he’d have one right now.

He looks between the three. Nods. “Yeah. Let’s get this over with.”

“Alright. Jaskier, I need you to stand over there. Vesemir, you’ll be the one going for Jaskier this time. I want to see if it’s only someone with chaos that will trigger Geralt or if it’s any form of attack.” Yennefer grabs Geralt’s wrist and drags him with her to the other end of the field.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Hopefully, you don’t break Vesemir’s bones.”

“He can hold his own.”

“Of course he can. But we don’t know how intense this bond is. I’m the most powerful sorceress on the continent and you almost choked me to death yesterday. Your mutagens are effected by the chaos of your bond. The goal today is to figure out how much. If it can trigger your mutagens without you taking potions, we’re dealing with some pretty powerful magic.”

“Hm.”

“Eloquent as always Geralt.”

“READY YENNEFER?” shouts Vesemir from far away. She gives him a thumbs up, casting a side glance to Geralt who watches Vesemir with a blaring intensity. Whatever is inside the pair of them, it’s already stirring. Geralt’s eyes are slits, narrowing in on Jaskier.

“He’s too far.” he mutters. He can smell something in the air. Red meat. Bloody. Anger. His mutagens stir up in reaction, narrowing in on his anchor. The elder at the far end is planning something. If Jaskier stays far away from Geralt, he won’t be able to keep him safe.

Yennefer frowns. “What do you mean he’s too far? Geralt?”

He launches. Feet pound against the ground as he rushes forth to Jaskier. He can sense the looming onslaught. The elder is behind his mate, watching him. He’s raising his fist.

Geralt is too far.

His chaos surges in him, bursting forth and throwing the elder back against the wall. Geralt keeps moving, pulling Jaskier into his arms once he gets to his side, feeling the man’s own hands pressed between their chests.

The scent of sandalwood and mint soothes him. The urge to protect recedes.

“Geralt. I’m alright dearheart.”

Dearheart.

Whether it’s instinct or something deeper, the words settle themselves over his soul. The endearment encompasses Geralt, wrapping it’s cozy ends around the pair, tucking them further into each other.

“Well, that was unexpected.” Yennefer walks over to the couple, violet eyes alight with worry but also slightly impressed.

Geralt snaps out of the embrace. He sees a flash of hurt go across Jaskier while a ripple of woundedness goes through him. The sensation isn’t the witcher’s though, His kind don’t feel and yet…

He feels this emotion acutely. Witchers can smell sentiments but experiencing them is a different story all together.

“Vesemir are you alright?” Yennefer says interrupting Geralt’s mental breakdown. He sees his mentor on the ground from where he attacked him. Swearing inwardly, Geralt helps the elder to his feet.

“I am fine. Though, I did not expect him to use his chaos. He cast Aard without needing a sign.”

“A new element to this whole mess. I wonder what other curveballs we’re going to get thrown our way.”

“I would hypothesise, that as the nature of anchor bonds is unstable, one can presume that soul bonds are either the opposite, or the extreme.”

“And with Geralt throwing his magic at someone he considers family, without a sign; it appears the latter is more likely.”

“It would seem so.”

Geralt collapses on the ground, head pressing into his hands. “So what does this mean?” he asks. He feels a presence lower down beside him and he doesn’t need to look up to know exactly who it is.

It comforts him. Though he’s not quite sure he wants it to.

“It means that the link between you two is like nothing we’ve ever seen. Your instinct to protect Jaskier is fierce to the point where the only thing you recognize is Jaskier. Anything else is deemed an enemy.” answers Yennefer.

Vesemir nods along. “In some cases, this can be an asset. Such as the Path, where monsters will enjoy a morsel such as your anchor.”

Geralt growls at the thought, his eyes slitting. Nothing is going to lay its teeth on the actor. Unintentionally, he moves closer to Jaskier, placing himself between the man and his mentor.

“Breathe pup. I won’t hurt your mate.”

The words don’t reassure him. But Jaskier placing his hand on his shoulder, directing the golden gaze to blue eyes does. He comes to again, looking away from the man’s pretty blues. That feeling of hurt flashes by once more but is gone just as quick.

“Jaskier.”

“Yes Yennefer?”

“How do you know?”

“Know what?”

“Know what Geralt needs. When we were anchored, I could only sense Geralt after he finished a battle and could only influence him to relax. While it seems you can do the same, I have a feeling it isn’t quite as identical. I could never calm him down with a touch. I had to use words and chaos.”

“Well, it’s…instinctual I suppose. I just…I just know what to do.”

“How did you soothe him the first time? With the doppler?’

“I heard a heartbeat. But I knew it wasn’t right. So, I followed the sound.”

“And?”

Jaskier stares off with a frown as he attempts to recall himself. Geralt watches him intently, not wanting to miss a word. “It led me to Geralt. My ears are, well, they’re more sensitive than your normal folk. So, I figured it was just that. Over sensitivity. And I…it’s a bit foggy but I think, no, I had felt a need to calm. To ease. Bring peace. And I just knew that if I placed my hand on his chest where his heart was, he would be alright.”

Vesemir ponders. “Elves naturally have heightened senses, though you being a half-elf may be why only your ears more aware. As of the bond, it sounds to me that the link reveals your instincts in one another. Jaskier’s role is to soothe and Geralt’s is to protect. That is normal for an anchor bond. But, with the soul bond in place, it makes you both feral. I believe it is only the anchoring that keeps you logical Jaskier, but it is not as strong as your desire to ease Geralt, which will overwhelm you. For Geralt, the link escalates the primal part of the mutagens.”

“Therefore making potions obsolete. So, Vesemir, you’re saying that the bonds are what? Intertwined?”

“I believe so. Rather than replacing the other, I think they’ve crafted themselves into something new. They are working together to keep the pair alive. I do believe there is a chance you may even have your lifespans linked. It’s certainly a possibility.”

“Fuck.” groans Geralt.

“Surely seems that way doesn’t it.” The witcher spares a look to the man beside him, who smiles slightly as an odd sort of comfort. It lessens the tension in Geralt’s shoulders and he wonders if Jaskier can sense his discomfort without the mutagens in effect.

His answer comes in the smell of chamomile. It is tender in the way it caresses his nose and is supplemented by a feeling of contentment. Geralt’s eyes widen. Once again, the feeling isn’t his.

It’s Jaskier. He can feel Jaskier.

Fuck.

“Geralt, what is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I can feel you.”

“What?”  The smell turns sour. Ripe lemon. Fuck. It feels bitter.

“I repeat Jaskier’s statement. What do you mean you feel him?” Yennefer crouches down to his level, eyes burrowing in.

Geralt rubs his chest, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by everything. He can feel Jaskier, can smell his worry. It’s too much.

It’s all too much.

So, he bolts.

 

 


 

 

Jaskier’s heart goes out to the poor witcher who runs away from the training grounds as quickly as his legs can carry him. Which is, in truth, quite fast. Yennefer huffs, standing herself straight while Vesemir merely shakes his head.

For the first day of study, it’s going along splendidly.

“So, does he do that often? Or is it just a me thing?”

“It’s not you son. He’s always been a bit of a prickly pear.”

“Oooo I like that. A prickly pear.”

Yennefer snorts. “Sure, if the pear is covered in metal spikes.”

“Rude.”

She shrugs. “If you two really are soulmates, you’ll find out for yourself how much of a pain in the ass Geralt can be. When the man feels anything, he runs for the hills.”

“That may have been my fault.”

“Vesemir, you can’t blame yourself for his shortcomings.” Yennefer looks on unimpressed.

“Hm. Perhaps not, but it was I who encouraged the boys that emotions were weaknesses. Blaviken only founded that conviction further I‘m afraid.”

Jaskier’s heart breaks. He can only imagine the damage that would do. To be continuously told that feeling, anything, was wrong. Goodness knows he endured his own demons from feeling too much, but he wouldn’t ever dare change that. Emotions are powerful things, beautiful things, even the bad ones.

“So he, Eskel and Lambert, they all think that feeling is a weakness?”

“Eskel has grown. He was always more level-headed than his brothers. Lambert, he never managed to ever heal from the trials. He feels, but anger is the only one he will acknowledge. As for Geralt, he insists he cannot, but out of all of them, it is him who feels too much.”

Jaskier looks at his feet, hiding his growing smile. What a pair we are, he thinks. He recalls Geralt in his white Henley, the bulge of his arms when they were crossed, the tense calves outlined by his jeans, his mucky boots. The long white hair, half pulled back, the rest just loose as the wind flitted about.

He wonders, how a man so striking, can miss something so vital to existence. What does Geralt long for? Is it companionship? Is it to be human? Or is it something more formidable? Something no one can provide but Destiny herself?

A thought comes to him then. Geralt said he had felt Jaskier. So if he…He doesn’t like it, but if it will ease Geralt’s anguish, Jaskier will do it wholeheartedly.

He needs to reel in his emotions.

The actor knows he is a being that has too many inclinations of passion. His mother had often scolded him of letting his heart control his mind. “You’ll give it to the wrong person. Why can’t you just wait for the right one to come along?”

She never talked of soulmates. Jaskier’s not even sure she had a mark. But he did, one that was painfully obvious to the world. Too easy to manipulate. Too easy to fool with.

But despite all that, he still chooses to feel. To love. With everything that he is. And Geralt…

Geralt is someone who needs it far more than anyone else. Soulmate or not, Jaskier would love his man with every fiber of his being. He might already be starting to. He doesn’t need to know the man to see that he is good.

The love for his daughter, shown through a gentle touch. The friendship with Yennefer, displayed in small smiles. His brothers, it twinkles in his eyes, and his father-figure (it’s so bloody obvious that Vesemir raised these men) with intentional listening.

So, he can do this for Geralt. He can move his heart’s thoughts from his sleeves to his chest. And maybe, Jaskier will become one of those people he loves so dearly.

“Yennefer.”

“Yes?”

“Teach me how to be an anchor for Geralt.”

She raises an eyebrow intrigued.

“Look, you and I both know that having an untrained anchor is a disaster waiting to happen. And while instinct is all fine and dandy, there’s no telling when I’ll lose myself to it. You said so yourself that it’s erratic. I could barely control myself the first time. If we train me, we can still do your experiments to your heart’s content, don’t give me that look Yennefer. If we train me, I’ll be able to do what needs to be done without losing Geralt or myself. And don’t bother arguing with me, you know I’m right on this.”

“Danger does seem to find you wherever you are.” she mutters.

“Precisely. So, wouldn’t it be best if I were somewhat competent? So we don’t have the strongest witcher on the continent completely enraged?”

“That’s a high ask.” she snorts.

“I’m perfectly capable of doing this. Vesemir?”

“I think you speak wisdom son. We can continue testing the limits of the bond but train you to be an anchor. Two birds, one stone.”

“Very well. We’ll start tomorrow then. I’ll need to do some preparations.”

“Brilliant. I can’t wait.”

 

 


 

 

Day 2:

Geralt hits the dummy with vigour, watching in deep satisfaction as it bounces back and forth on its springs. He’s got more testing later today with Jaskier, but for now it’s just him, his swords, the dummy, and silence.

Until Lambert appears.

Geralt and Lambert have never been close as siblings, him being the taciturn and solemn type while Lambert rages against anything with legs. Growing up, Vesemir had his hands full with the younger man, for he was angry at the world and everything in it. He’s mellowed a bit, but still has a vulgar tongue much to Geralt’s chagrin.

“Want some company?”

Geralt grunts, continuing his focus on demolishing the stand-in. “Calm down you fucker. What’s the dummy do to you?”

The witcher wipes sweat from his brow, glaring at his brother. “Fuck off.”

Lambert grins. “It’s your little bond buddy isn’t it? Or are you pissed that you lost the witch?”

Geralt rolls his eyes. Lambert knows full well him and Yen aren’t together. Haven’t been in the past two centuries (minus the occasional hookup) and that he’s, you know, got a fucking soulmate now.

Who he is not avoiding outside of testing.

Really.

Despite not focusing on him, Lambert loiters about, watching Geralt continue practicing his movements. The stare unnerves the witcher. “Are you going to join or not?”

“Thought you didn’t want the company.”

Geralt wipes his face with his shirt. “Your company isn’t the issue, it’s your obnoxious mouth.”

“You seem to enjoy the actor’s. You know he’s famous right? Some sort big shot or something in the continent. And he’s got quite the long list of lovers.”

Geralt growls. Jaskier’s history has nothing to do with him. Really. It doesn’t. And it doesn’t bother him one bit.

He hits the dummy harder with his next swing.

“Imagining Jaskier’s previous affairs?”

Fuck off Lambert. Either practice or go change. You look like you’re homeless.”

“Fuck you.”

Lambert lunges for Geralt, knocking the sword out of his hand but Geralt catches his wrist, pinning the younger witcher to the ground. The pair wrestle, rolling amongst the grass as they try to beat the other to a pulp.

Geralt’s about to give Lambert a nice shiner when his spine tingles.

Jaskier.

“Holy fuck Geralt. You’re eyes…

Geralt doesn’t even register Lambert as he runs. He can feel Jaskier’s fear coil in his gut, the stench of curdled milk rotten in his nose.

Fuck. He whips around, listening intently for his mate’s whereabouts, following the pungent smell through the keep until he gets to the foyer. He slams the doors open and sees Vesemir, standing over a shirtless Jaskier, with a blade.

His chaos comes forth, casting itself in the shape of Quen as the knife comes crashing down. It shatters on contact with the shield as the older witcher is blown back from the impact. Geralt gets to Jaskier’s side, face cradled in his hands, looking to see if there is any injury.

He’s okay. He’s okay.

“Geralt, my darling. I’m alright.” A tender hand places itself on the witcher’s cheek, the thumb softly stroking the veins away. Anxiety releases itself from Geralt’s frame as his feral side goes dormant once more.

“Well, we can mark off distance as a deterrent.”

Of course Yen was behind this. “Yennefer…”

“What? You didn’t think I’d tell you when we were testing the bond all the time did you? The point is to assess the instinct.

“And you have to keep risking his life like this?”

She shrugs. The anger seeps out. “Fuck.”

He brings his attention to where, he now realizes, stands a very shirtless Jaskier. Geralt’s breathing goes heavy.

Fuck.

“Where’s your shirt?”

“Oh! Yennefer figured if you saw my skin it might increase the intensity of your response. Seems like it worked.”

It hadn’t, but now it is.

Fucking hell.

Geralt turns on his heel and storms off, leaving an amused Vesemir and Yennefer while Jaskier just looks utterly confused. 

This is going to be a long month.

 

 


 

 

Day 3:

“Remind me again why I need to do this?”

“Because you need to learn to balance your heart and your mind.”

“And standing one foot in the gardens will do that?”

“What? You match.”

“Are you insulting my outfit? You were the one who insisted on me wearing something loose and flexible.

“You look like a prick.”

“I look demure. Besides, lavender’s my colour darling.”

Yennefer snorts while adjusting his posture. “Repeat to me the rules to being an anchor.”

“Again? Ugh. Very well. Rule 1. Do not show up until the end of the battle. Rule 2. Only use the bond to initiate calming influences. Rule 3. Do not use your chaos unless it is an emergency.”

“Very good. Alright, you can put your foot down.”

“Thank gods. Bloody hell, it’s gone numb.

Yennefer rolls her eyes as Jaskier removes his foot from the shoes, rubbing the arch. “Ah, sweet relief.”

“The next step is to clear your mind. Witchers meditate to regain energy and prepare for battle. Anchors do the same to keep a clear conscious when their witcher goes into a fight.”

“Sounds romantic.”

“It isn’t. Come on, get into position.”

The pair sit cross-legged amongst the flowers, the sun beating down onto their shoulders. “I didn’t think the home of the witchers would have such lavish gardens.”

Focus Jaskier.”

“I’m just saying, it doesn’t really fit the profile does it? Not that I’m griping, I absolutely adore this sanctuary.”

“I added them when I came to live here.”

“Ah. Yes, that makes more sense. Does Triss help you with them?”

“She does.”

“Are you two an item?”

Yennefer cracks an eye open. “Jaskier, you’re supposed to be meditating.”

“That’s not a no. When I first came here, I thought you and Geralt were together. You bicker as much as an old couple, and then you have Ciri, so there’s another tether, but then Triss grasped your hand and you softened that hard shell you’ve got.

“The soulmate thing didn’t clue you in?”

“Well, obviously it did once we got to that conclusion. But it wasn’t immediate. And you must admit, the chemistry between you and Geralt is evident.”

“We haven’t been together in a long time.”

“Ah. So you were an item once upon a time. I knew it. So, you can give me the inklings about how he works. What makes him tick? How does one show him that they care? Because the man is lovely, Melitele crafted a fine showcase of a bloke but he doesn’t—”

Jaskier. Shut. Up.”

“Right. Shutting up now.”

The pair sit in silence, with only nature giving them music. It’s a delightful atmosphere with birds chirping and the wind whishing slowly. But the actor is never one to stay silent for long. Jaskier gives her a sly look, more questions bubbling forth, but she beats him to the punch.

“He likes his fingers sucked.”

“Wha—”

“And he moans obscenely loud when his hair is grabbed, especially when he’s about to climax.”

“Yennefer!” he sputters, “I was hoping for friendship tips not exploits of his sexual preferences. Melitele’s tits. Go back to meditating you horrible, horrible, woman.”

Yennefer smirks.

 

 


 

 

Day 7:

Geralt is back on the field where Jaskier and Yennefer stand. Vesemir is off on the Path with Lambert, so Eskel must be filling in for him today, which would explain his presence with the duo.  

And Geralt…He’s not sure how he feels about it. Logically, he’s fine. But this fucking soulmate bond is making his mark itch every time Jaskier places a damn hand on his brother.

First, it’s losing control of his sanity simply because the actor might be in trouble (Yennefer has gotten more daring with her tests and he hates it. He almost set Vesemir on fire with one, drowned him on another, and even sliced Lambert open with his sword. Though that one he doesn’t so much regret).

Thankfully, her one on one training with Jaskier is yielding positive results. He’s more attuned to Geralt and the witcher has felt less assaulted by the man’s emotions. A part of him does miss feeling Jaskier’s sentiments, but now with Jaskier more in control, as an anchor should be, Geralt is more comfortable. Besides, he can still smell what the actor feels anyway.

So, not a total loss.

“Alright. Eskel, Vesemir filled you in on the progress so far?”

“Yeah. Said to pretty much just stand there and let Jaskier do his thing.”

“Essentially. Alright, we know that Jaskier can be anywhere and if he’s in danger, Geralt will know. Luckily, Jaskier has been able to utilize the anchor bond to calm him before the mutagens take affect thanks to our training.”

“Not without its share of emotional scarring.”

“You’re fine. Today’s test is simple. I want to see if Geralt will react to something other than violence against Jaskier.”

“What do you have mind?” Eskel leans on one leg, Jaskier looking particularly curious and Geralt just knows he’s going to hate what comes out of Yennefer’s mouth.

“You’re going to flirt with him.”

Yeah. Fuck this.

“Yen…” he grits out. She merely waves him off.

“Not a hardship.” Eskel shrugs. “He’s easy on the eyes.”

Jaskier fucking smirks. “You flatter me so.”

The mark on Geralt’s chest burns. He clutches it, his eye twitching as he tries to get control. This is Eskel. He’s not going to sleep with him. He’s just messing with him. Eskel doesn’t want Jaskier.

The stream of rationale seems to be working, until Eskel places a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and the man in return grasps his wrist with a beaming smile.

And Geralt just fucking blanks until Jaskier’s blue eyes are in front of his. “Geralt?” It’s so tentative that the witcher whimpers. He’s made his mate fearful.

“Oh darling no. I’m quite alright. I’m not scared. A tad worried for Eskel,” Geralt growls, “Easy dearheart. But not of you. Not my white wolf.”

“White wolf?” he rasps out, choosing to ignore the possessive that Jaskier implicated. He still might be a little wild. All he can see is the flush that takes on the actor’s cheeks (which is beautiful) making the primal beast in Geralt purr with satisfaction.

“Ah, well. It’s…I needed something to refer to you as? When I didn’t know you’re name? And well, I am a musician at heart so, it just, well your hair is white—”

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?” he squeaks, his cornflowers big and wide.

“It’s fine.”

“Good. Great. Alrighty then.”

Geralt breathes in the soothing scent of sandalwood and mint, relaxing further in Jaskier’s presence.

“Well fuck. I thought Vesemir was exaggerating but wow.”

The witcher sees his brother getting up with help from Yennefer, dusting the grass off his pants.

“Well, that was by far the most intense you’ve ever been. That’s definitely not the anchor bond.”

“Geralt’s always been a bit of a possessive bugger.”

“Hey.”

Eskel laughs. “What? It’s true. Remember when Lambert was toying with that siren you were seeing? You beat him so bad he couldn’t move for a week.

Geralt grumbles something about Lambert deserving it, but the laugh that comes from Jaskier is pure delight and it makes his heart swoon.

To which he promptly crushes, because he’s not supposed to be embracing this bond but instead treating it as a tool. Witchers don’t feel and he can’t afford to lose control on the Path.

He knows Yennefer said to be there for the actor, but Geralt…he’s not good with people. He knows he’s being a coward, but he can’t taint Jaskier.

“Any more bright ideas?”

Yennefer gives him a knowing look, as if she sees his own refusal to whatever is going on. “No. Take a break.”

Geralt leaves as quickly as he can, smelling something akin to morning fog, along with an ache. Jaskier is sad.

He ignores it.

 

 


 

 

Day 10:

“My trousers Yennefer. He burned my trousers!”

“Jaskier, you can’t hide in your room like a child.”

“MY TROUSERS.”

 

 


 

 

Day 13:

After a grueling day of testing the limits of the bond, accompanied by a three-hour long session with Yennefer on anchor controls, Jaskier is exhausted.

Ever since this month began, he’s horribly sweated through his clothes (thankfully Triss rescued him and showed him the laundry room, the blessed angel), lost a pair of gorgeous, top of the line, one of a kind, pants (fuck you Geralt you heartless bastard), and received more bruises than he ever cared for in his life.

But, despite the agony of it all, it has helped. Geralt has a better sense of himself since Jaskier learned how to be a good anchor, no longer losing it in the fray when something happens to the actor. Well, for the most part.

It’s slow progress, but it’s progress none the less. But in the down time, such as now, he finds himself at a loss of what to do. Eskel said he’d look into getting Jaskier a guitar (the tune he got around Yen and Vesemir has been composing itself, yearning to be heard) but it’s been a week since then.

Jaskier collapses onto his bed, staring at the ceiling of the canopy. Gods, he is bored.

A saving grace must have heard his thoughts because a knock erupts on his door. He shoots up, eyes wide. Could it be Geralt? He never sees him outside of their testing.

“Come in!”

The door creaks open and a head with ashy blonde locks pokes through. Following it is the girl in a short turquoise dress with white sneakers.

“Oh! Princess! Hello.”

“No one calls me princess.”

“Well, I can stop if you’d like, but that is a title you have.”

“It’s okay. It’s…kinda nice. No one talks about my grandmother.”

Ah. She’s looking for stories then. “Well, I don’t want to step on your parents’ toes.”

“We can ask Triss! She’s practically my second mom anyway. I’m sure she’d be okay with it.”

Well, Jaskier is quite confident that would definitely be stepping on toes. But, for now he can entertain the idea. He’ll find a way to divert it. The girl is twelve and he has a silver tongue. She’s no match for him.

“Well, let us ask, then shall we? In the meantime, you can tell me about your studies.”

Ciri grins, rushing into the hall and chattering up a storm about training with witchers, learning magic with Yennefer, math with Triss and history with Vesemir. “The history lessons are my least favourite, but Vesemir says its important to know for the future.”

“Well, many say that history often repeats itself. So, if you know what happened in the past you can avoid it in the future.”

“But, if that’s the lesson, then why does it get repeated?”

Oh. She’s smart this one. Quick as a whip. Should she ever go home to claim her throne, she’d be quite the queen. Jaskier wonders if that’s why Vesemir teaches her about history.

“Well, not everyone is bright. Some want power, so they fail to see their own demise. Others yearn for more knowledge and fail to see those they throw under the bus coming for them with a vengeance. Others can be greedy, wanting all wealth to themselves and forget those that put them there and some—”

“Some choose to favour some over others; despite that we are all the same.”

Jaskier sees a deep sadness in Ciri’s eyes. She knows about her grandmother’s beliefs then. He wonders how she came to the witchers home, why she isn’t with Calanthe and instead is at Kaer Morhen.

“I was a child of surprise.” she whispers, avoiding eye contact. And oh. That would do it.

“You were Geralt’s.” Suddenly everything makes sense. Triss’s statement from before, the secrecy around Ciri’s existence at the keep, her studies. She is being prepped for the throne, in ways that will be make her open and accepting, unlike her grandmother.

“My magic, it was too strong. I hurt some people. I didn’t mean to but—”

Jaskier pauses, stopping in front of Ciri and kneeling before her. “Listen to me. Chaos, from the little I know of it, is a very powerful thing and will work to protect its vessel. If others suffered, it was only because they had to in order for you to live. Do not let what happened to them weigh on you. There are far more important things in the world that deserve your attention. It is in the past. You now know better for the future.”

“You sound like mom.”

“She’s a smart woman. You should listen to her.”

Ciri pushes a strand behind her ear.

“Besides, I am an excellent judge of character, and you, my dear, are a good egg.” He bops her on the nose, and she scrunches it, before shaking it off with a giggle.

“I’m glad dad has you. You’re really nice.”

The insides of Jaskier squirm in delight at the blessing from the princess. The daughter likes him. Surely that can only bode well. “Why thank you my lady. Oh! Do you know if Kaer Morhen has a music room?”

“Oh! It does! Do you play? No one can play anything. It sounds like cats screeching.”

Jaskier chuckles. “Oh my darling, I most certainly do play. Let us go to this place and I shall sing to you the songs of my brethren.”

“Brethren? What are you, eighty?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Princess diverted. Excellent job.

He doesn’t see the flash of white hair turn the corner.

 

 


 

 

Day 15:

Geralt is sitting at Triss’s alchemy table as he recalls the conversation his daughter had with Jaskier. It didn’t even dawn on him that Jaskier being his soulmate made him Ciri’s pseudo parent.

He never would have even thought the man capable of being a father figure, with his wild outfits (that always make him look so damn good) and flourishes. He talks incessantly, quips with Yennefer and always seems to bring in danger (though being at Kaer Morhen has kept him safe thank god).

“Alright big guy. Your brain seems to be working overdrive.” Triss says while cutting up some roots. Her cauldron is bubbling off to the side, releasing fumes that she charmed not to smell. 

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh. So you’re melancholy sighs are just for show? Jaskier must be rubbing off on you.”

Geralt grumbles at that but cannot doubt the slight warmth he gets from Triss’s casual comment.

“Hm.”

“So, what is it then? I’m not Yen so I won’t yell at you, I’m not Lambert so I won’t swear at you and I’m not Vesemir, so I’m not going to lecture you. I’ll give you my take, but ultimately, it’s your choice what you do. So, out with it.” she gestures with her knife.

“Ciri told Jaskier she was a child of surprise.”

“Wow. Big talk. What did Jaskier say?”

“He encouraged her. Didn’t ask for details on why she’s here, just…listened. She started to get worked up and he calmed her down. Said the right thing. Told her Yen was wise. She said she was glad I had him.”

“Ah. She’s a smart cookie for sure. So, what’s so bad about that? They’re bonding and well I might add. That’s a good thing.”

“It took me six years to get her to open up and talk to me. And Jaskier—”

“Gets it in one go.”

“Hm.”

Triss ponders and sighs. “Well, that’s who Jaskier is. He’s a wordsmith, he’s a social butterfly and he’s a people person. No offence, but all of you witchers are emotionally stunted neanderthals, you being the worst one. Do you remember how you acted when I first came to the keep? Grunted. Yen introduced me, you two were dating at the time, and you just grunted. Like a pig. Didn’t say more than two words to me for about a century until Vesemir finally smacked some manners into you.”

He had forgotten about that. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m over it. And I realized that you were just bad with people, so I figured if I hung around you enough, you’d get used to me. But I’m also an adult. Ciri’s not. She doesn’t know that you struggle with feelings and don’t deny it, you do. But Jaskier isn’t like that. He’s a pretty emotional person. Yeah, he can go off on tangents about goodness knows what, but he empathizes too.” She checks in on her cauldron, nods once, then continues. “About two weeks into his stay, he found his way down here to my little lab, no idea where he was because someone hadn’t shown him around…”

“I—”

“Save it. Yen should’ve known better than to task you with host duties. She should’ve asked Eskel.”

“I could’ve done it.” he growls.

Triss only quirks an eyebrow up. “Uh huh. Sure. And I’m not an alchemist. Anyway, he comes down here, finds my little space and here’s the kicker. I’d been feeling down all day from a little spat with Yen. And he could tell. Immediately, as he entered and sat right where you are, he knew. And more importantly, he listened. He took it all in, never interrupted and then he asked me a question. He asked me what I liked about Yennefer. I thought it strange at the time, but I answered. I told him the small things that she does. And then he asked me if I ever wanted to lose that. I said no of course, and he followed it up by saying to not get caught up in the details. We have a healthy relationship, a good one. He reminded me of that.”

She takes her cutting board and tosses in the roots into the cauldron before grabbing a different ingredient, beginning to chop once more.

“Anyway, where I’m going with this is that for Ciri, she needs someone who can be a good role model for empathy. For humanity. And Jaskier is the epitome of that. He’s the person to do that for her. My guess is she sees some sort of kinship in him, one that she lacks with anyone else here and knows she can trust him. Jaskier is welcoming and open and friendly. He’s a good match for you.”

“I didn’t—”

“Come on Geralt. We’ve known each other for a long time now, I can see when you’re smitten.”

“I’m not—”

“Yeah. You are.” She says softly. “And that’s okay. Destiny is serving you your soulmate on a silver platter. Are you seriously going to deny that simply because you have some love/hate relationship with her?”

“Destiny has fucked me in the ass too many times.”

“No, it’s just that you’re an idiot who reacts to everything and never thinks things through. Sort of like another bumbling idiot we know.”

“I thought you liked Jaskier.”

“I do. I adore the man to bits. We all do. But even I can see he’s reckless. Makes you have to use that brain of yours more.”

“All?”

“He’s what, been here three weeks now? Surely you didn’t think he was just sitting around doing nothing except training.”

“Hm.”

“Honestly, you are so dense. Jaskier’s fluttering about, that’s a habit here now. If he were gone, something would be absent. The only person who seems to have missed Jaskier, is you. And you don’t even know it. Have you even tried talking to him?”

“No.”

Triss sighs. “Geralt. This is your soulmate. For once in your life, do the easy thing. If you’re so scared of the bond, talk to him. Goodness knows he’s dying to talk to you. Work out your partnership, whatever that may be, but stop running away from him. You should know more than anyone that when you run away from Destiny, she will bite you in the ass.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Triss is right. He should talk to Jaskier. Here he is, relying on instinct like a fool when he could be smart about this rather than a blundering idiot.

Time to stop being a coward and face this thing head on.

“I can see you’re taking my advice. Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date to prepare for. I love you but get out of my lab.”

 

 


 

 

Day 17: 

Jaskier is fiddling with the strings on the guitar Eskel brought for him (finally). He’s humming the tune that he’s been longing to get out, scrawling down the notes and words as they come to him. He feels in his bones that this will be a good one.

Gods, it’s like an old friend come to welcome him home with open arms when he’s been gone for so long.

He’s so attuned to this moment, that he doesn’t even notice the man of his late-night dreams enter. Doesn’t register him sitting down on the couch beside him until he grips the neck of the guitar.

“Oh! Geralt! Hello!”

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

Jaskier pushes the circled lenses further up his nose. He’s a tad insecure about them, as most people don’t find them particularly flattering. Ah well, he’s not trying to impress them anyway. Well, not anymore. 

“Yes well, being a half-elf allows for excellent hearing but shit eyesight. Here I’ll just—” he goes to take them off, but Geralt’s hand on his wrist stops him. He pulse picks up and he hopes to gods Geralt doesn’t hear it. Unlikely, but the man doesn’t react so, small mercies.

“Don’t. They look good.”

Jaskier’s jaw drops. “Did you just…pay me a compliment?”

The witcher scratches the back of his neck, obviously flustered. “Something like that.”

Something like that indeed. What is happening. “Ah well. Thanks. What brings you here? Has Ciri finished her lesson?”

God, if Jaskier didn’t know any better he’d say Geralt is embarrassed. But the man hasn’t said anything!

“Geralt. Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m just not…good with words.”

So he is trying to say something. Well Jaskier can be patient. Possibly.

Whatever is going on in the head of his soulmate, Jaskier feels anxiety in his own. He rubs his chest, finding the feeling irksome and it catches Geralt’s attention.

“Something wrong?”

“No. I just got the strangest sense of apprehension but I’m not sure where it’s coming from. Wait a minute…it’s you!

Geralt looks like a deer caught in headlights with the way his eyes widen and freeze. Jaskier is pretty sure he is about to bolt (please no). He’s currently debating if he should stop him but rather than getting up and leaving, Geralt sags into the couch.

“Fuck.”

“Well, I agree it’s not ideal. But if you’re feeling anxious, we can talk about it. I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.” Jaskier puts the guitar to the side, to show Geralt that he has his full attention. The man blinks a few times, before adjusting himself on the couch.

“I’m sorry.”

That is…not what Jaskier is expecting. Truthfully, he figured Geralt would complain about him and his antics with a litany of words. Which wouldn’t be too far out there as Jaskier has been rather vocal recently. Though, Geralt spewing more than one syllable does seem a bit far-fetched.

But this, this is interesting. Geralt has been a bit of a recluse. Now, thinking upon it, Jaskier’s pretty sure Geralt was avoiding him. The buffoon.

What a stupidly charming man.

“Go on.”

“Jaskier.”

“Oh no, I’m not going to make this easy for you. It certainly wasn’t me who was avoiding you.

Geralt looks guilty with that comment, confirming Jaskier’s guess. He was avoiding him the jerk! But rather than jumping to a conclusion, he waits for Geralt to explain.

“I shouldn’t have avoided you. And I shouldn’t have punched you either. I’m not…great with emotions.”

“Understatement of the century.” Geralt glares. Jaskier mimes zipping his lips, which earns a chuckle from the witcher making his heart soar.

“This soulmate stuff, it’s…uncomfortable for me. Vesemir, he knew the path of a witcher was rough, so he tried to make it as easy for us as possible. One of the things he taught was that witchers don’t feel.”

“Bollocks.”

“What?”

Patience out.

“Witchers don’t feel? Are you daft? Geralt, you feel so deeply it amazes me. You may be shit at saying it, but you show it. You’re tender towards Ciri who adores you, you and Yennefer get along better than any set of exes I’ve ever seen and it’s very obvious the two of you care deeply for each other, deep enough to recognize that you were better off apart. That’s a terrifying thing to do. For many, many people. You respect the hell out of Triss and treat her well because, well, she’s a saint. Lambert’s an utter shit and you still put up with him despite his foul attitude, Eskel is also, a saint, and Vesemir is practically your father. All of you take care of him, making sure he’s well off. Geralt, the trials may have made you a witcher, but they didn’t take your ability to feel. Emotions? That’s what makes people human. And I dare say you care far more than most humans I’ve met.”

Jaskier huffs, worked up from the rant and now face to face with Geralt. He scrambles backwards, sitting himself on the other side of the couch as he feels his face grow red.

Fuck. He really went off there didn’t he?

Geralt doesn’t say anything, just sits there. Looking soundly at the wall. A beat passes though it feels like forever until Geralt speaks.

“Thank you.”

“Hm?”

“For saying that. Not many people would give witchers a second glance.”

“Well, I’m not most people.”

“No. You aren’t.”

Jaskier can feel this is a moment, with Geralt’s sunrise gaze on him. The light by the fire casting a warm glow and the actor thinks it is truly unfair how beautiful this man is.

But he doesn’t kiss him. Geralt is skittish, Jaskier has learned over the course of his time at Kaer Morhen. He is a creature of habit, following through his routine without a single slip. He can imagine that someone like him would cause quite the upset for the witcher.

But yet, here they are.

“The bond. I don’t...”

He’s struggling again with his words. But Jaskier knows they will come. It’s nice, seeing someone actually think through what they’re going to say rather than blurt it out.

Like Jaskier, for instance. Goodness knows he can be an absolute menace with his vocabulary.

“I don’t know if this is something…”

Ah. He doesn’t know if he wants it. Well, that’s a little blow to the ego. Jaskier’s been rejected before, and well, this isn’t quite that, but it sure as hell feels like it.

“You’re sad.”

The actor sighs. “No. Well, yes. I’ll be honest, it feels a bit like a rejection. I do know that’s not it though. But I think your missing some information here. What do they teach you about soul marks?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not much. Since they get removed, there isn’t much reason to know about them.”

 “I will murder whoever did your education as a child because they are utterly daft.”

“Vesemir would break you before you could ever touch him.” A smirk dance on the witcher’s lips, and gods, Jaskier would love to ravish them.

Focus.  

“Ha ha. Very funny. Jaskier’s a little weakling. Whatever. What I lack in strength I make up for in wit. Because, you see, I do know fair a bit about soul marks. Geralt, you do realize they are consensual, yes?”

“What?”

“Geralt, dearest, soulmate bonds must be accepted by both parties, consciously and unequivocally for them to forever linked. What we feel now; you feeling me and I you, that’s just a taste. Bonds, when established, are far more intimate than this.”

“How do you know when it’s happened?”

“The marks turn white.”

“Hm.”

“Geralt, you must know, I would never force this on you. And I know you would never force this upon me. If this is something you don’t want, that’s okay.”

The man looks at him incredulously. “How? Don’t you want this?”

“I do. But only if you want it too.”

He sees gears turn in Geralt’s mind, mulling over what Jaskier said. If Geralt rejects him, he will be absolutely devastated. But he’ll get over it.

He’s done it before.

“Hm.”

The actor smiles. “That’s your promising grunt.”

Geralt gives him a puzzled look. “What? You didn’t honestly think I’d be here, for a month, dealing with your grumbling and not figure out how to understand you? You may not use words, but your tone and actions convey everything your saying anyway.”

Jaskier can feel Geralt staring at him, can feel the wonder he is experiencing, which Jaskier finds very gratifying, till it turns into a firmness.

He’s come to a decision then.

Anxiety claws his gut because now he can’t get a read on the man, despite him looking very fine in his green Henley (does he own anything else? Doesn’t matter. They suit him).

“I want to try…this.”

Wait what?

Geralt seems amused at him, which means he’s probably feeling Jaskier’s shock. “No need to be surprised. I’m not that dense.”

Beg to differ. But fine.

“We’ll just, get to know one another.”

“Are you suggesting a frienaissance?”

The laugh that comes from Geralt is, truly, the most glorious sound Jaskier has ever heard, and his ears rejoice in the noise. He wants to hear it again, record it so he can listen to it on repeat.

“You’re going to be a handful.”

“It’s all part of the charm dearheart.”

They say it takes twenty-one days to make a habit, and while Jaskier has never believed that old wives tale, here, now, with Geralt…

He can see himself doing just that.

 

 


 

 

Day 21:

Jaskier leaves his room, stretching long and lean as he prepares for four hours of working with Geralt on their bond, before doing the next three with Yennefer on anchor control.

And then Vesemir suggested he learn how to fight and well, isn’t that just going to be grand.  

He’s going to be broken by the end of this. This is not how he wanted to go.

But as he steps out onto the training grounds, seeing Geralt standing there in his workout wear with Yennefer and Vesemir, Ciri sitting on the benches with Eskel and Triss laughing about something, Lambert leaning back getting some sun, all that irritation fades away.

And when Geralt sees him and waves, he can sense a warmth in the man through their link. He’s happy.

Jaskier’s smile radiates and he knows, it’s going to be a good day. Because Geralt is happy that he’s here.

And isn't that something? 

 


Outfit Inspiration:

(In Order of Appearance Through The Days Listed, Excluding Day 21) 

Jaskier: 

 

Geralt: 

 

 

Yennefer: 

 

 

Vesemir: 

 

 

Lambert: 

Eskel: 

 

 

Ciri: 

 

 

Triss: 

 

Notes:

Outfit Inspirations makes me WILD. I love that you all love them (and yes, Geralt will wear something more than just a Henley shirt. Not that we're complaining).

Next chapter will be up by August 19 or earlier.

In the meantime, check out Somewhere In Between by EDDIE feat. Colleen D'Agostino. It's FIRE. And the track that was continuous when writing this chapter.

Also, Chapter 4 guys? You're going to LOVE it.

Chapter 4: I Wanna Feel You

Notes:

Y'all, it's getting a little steamy in here. And I'm not talking about the hot springs. ;)

With Chapter 4 I gift you steamy boys, fluffy boys and a whole keep saying fucking finally.

Consent is sexy everybody. Always ask before you make a move.

Enjoy the outfits as much as I did and you know, don't kill me at the end of this.

I own nothing and like Jaskier, I don't wear old seasons. So, canon has been tossed out to make way for the right look. A Geraskier look.

Enjoy lovelies!

P.S. Złoty is the currency in Poland.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Batshit

Chapter 4: I Wanna Feel You

“Seduce me at sunrise, dance with me barefoot in the dew on the grass, make me wet and warm, and loved”

―  Bodhi Smith,  Bodhi Smith Impressionist Photography

 

“Explain it to me again.”

“You hold the strings here, strum like this, and then shift your hands up and strum again.”

“This is so hard! I don’t want to do it anymore.”

Jaskier sighs, slightly frustrated with his new student (well, only student but he’ll get Eskel to pluck some chords, just you wait) who is quickly losing interest in learning how to play guitar.

He remembers when he first was studying the instrument, how difficult it was to get it to sound right, to make sure his fingers were dexterous enough to move along the tough strings. He doesn’t blame her for being frustrated but her outbursts are becoming tiresome.

“Princess, you know these kinds of things take practice. You won’t be a master if you give up every time you can’t hit a note.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re good at this.”

“I’ve also been doing it for many, many years.”

“Please. You probably picked it up as a baby and were like tada! The next Prince. I’m never going to be as good as you.”

“Ciri, your goal shouldn’t be to be as good as me, it should be to be able to play a song and play it well.”

She huffs, fingernails clicking on the wood. “Uh huh.”

A knock on the door interrupts their little squabble and both parties look completely relieved at the sound. “Come in!”

Geralt steps in, arms crossed in his training gear and Jaskier winces. He was hoping the witcher wouldn’t notice his absence from his room. He’s supposed to begin learning how to fight today.

“Ah, sorry Geralt. We’re a bit busy here. Ciri is working very hard and I don’t want to inter—”

“DAD. Thank god. Here, take this. I need a break. You can deal with him now.” Ciri shoves her guitar into his hands before zooming out of the music room, leaving two bewildered adults. Geralt blinks, looking at Jaskier, laughter written all over his face while Jaskier just gapes.

“Well I’ll never. You know, my students at Oxenfurt never gave me nearly as much sass as she does.”

“Is she causing problems?” Geralt’s expression turns worried. The actor waves it away.

“No, nothing of the sort. Just the usual teenage angst surrounding one’s existence. Though, I was hoping she’d get me out of our session today.”

An eyebrow goes up. “It’s our first one and you’re already trying to avoid it.”

“Never let it be said that I am anything but dedicated to avoiding physical exertion. Unless it’s of sexual nature of course. I am a lover, not a fighter.”

Geralt snorts. The bastard.

“I know my strengths and weaknesses, and fighting a big man such as yourself, is definitely going to make me land on my buttocks more times than I would like.”

“What was it that you said? These kinds of things take practice? You won’t be a master every time you can’t hit a note? Or in this case, a kick.”

Jaskier’s eyes narrow as he puffs indignantly. “You, dear sir, need a nap!” The witcher only laughs as he sits down beside the actor, his face breaking into a big grin upon landing.

Gods, Jaskier loves a smiling Geralt.

Since their chat, he’s been pleasantly surprised by Geralt’s attempt to be friends. He doesn’t avoid him anymore but instead seeks him out. They walk to their testing together, eat meals together (though they were already doing that but now Geralt actually looks at him), and just, enjoy one another’s company.

His white wolf still doesn’t talk much, but Jaskier finds he doesn’t need him to. For Geralt, actions speak louder than words, which is why he will choose to sit and listen to Jaskier prattle on about god knows what, a quirk in his lips, golden eyes flickering between the gestures of Jaskier’s hands, or wrap a blanket around him when he falls asleep from his long sessions with Yennefer. He will occasionally offer in a word when Jaskier debates with Triss over themes in certain poems (which always sends a thrill down the actor’s spine because the tone he delivers in is just, ugh) and it’s always to show that he heard what Jaskier said.

The man is a true gentleman, in every sense of the word, and Jaskier can’t help but fall in love with him a little bit more every day.

This is different than before, he notes, as Geralt continues to chuckle. It’s different than the others who he has loved. While a part of Jaskier still fears that the bond between him and Geralt could be fabricated, it is more of his personal demons haunting him, because Geralt is just as tentative about this as he is. Yes, Jaskier wants to pursue something with the witcher romantically but he still appreciates the small moments when they are simply friends.

Communication has never been hotter than when Geralt shares his feelings.

And Jaskier…He’s never really had that before. That’s why he knows this is different. Why he can keep those demons at bay. Because Geralt is taking his time and talks to him and listens.  

He wishes the Countess had. Would’ve have saved him a lot of heartbreak.

Fuck. He should be focusing on the here and now. With Geralt. His soulmate. Not the one who pretended to be something she was not.

A hand places itself onto his knee, eyes staring and asking, are you alright?

He really is the perfect man. Jaskier places his palm on Geralt’s and squeezes, a timid smile joining, before letting go. Yes.

And Geralt knows not to ask but instead gets up, makes his way to the door, and turns. “Time to get your ass whooped.”

It breaks the melancholy that was in the air. “You’re going to ruin me, and not in the good way,” he groans while getting up.

The only response he gets is a laugh that bellows as deeply as bells in a church steeple.

Yes. This is definitely different than last time.

 

 


 

 

Geralt preps the field with what they’ll need to get Jaskier into fighting shape. The man has some muscle, which means he can probably handle a dagger, but anything else might be too heavy and crush him.

The last thing he wants is Jaskier to be hurt. And that’s as much him as it is the bond.

He spares a glance to the man, who is doing the stretches as instructed. He is in fine form, his leggings very, very tight (Geralt is working very hard to not stare at the lower region) and his shirt which is also very firm (Geralt’s avoiding looking that area too). It’s all blue which makes his eyes more prominent than normal and honestly…

Geralt just wants to fuck him.

This isn’t a new feeling. Geralt’s wanted Jaskier the moment he saw him, but now he’s actually considering acting on it.

Because of that night.

I do, but only if you want it too.

When was the last time a lover cared about what Geralt wanted? Yennefer? Hardly. The pair of them were passionate but they didn’t go deeper with one another. It was just sex. And the others? Dalliances. No one ever stuck around.

But Jaskier…he’s different than the others. Rather than run, he’s come closer but let Geralt set the pace. He hasn’t demanded anything from witcher (except to use his words but that’s just everyone’s demand from him) and Geralt…

He’s found himself drawn into Jaskier’s presence, whether that be hanging around Ciri’s music lessons, strolling through the gardens as Yennefer runs the actor through his anchor drills, or joining Eskel and him when they’re with his brother’s goat (he doesn’t even like the thing, but he likes Jaskier and Eskel being buddy-buddy less).

He could chalk it up to the bond, blame it on instinct, but Geralt finds that he just likes him. He genuinely enjoys Jaskier, flourishes and all. He likes that the man has an extensive vocabulary which he does, in fact, know how to use intelligently. He likes that he’s good with Ciri and brings out a tender side to her that no one else has been able to do. He likes that Jaskier and Yennefer will defend each other to the earth (he learned that one when Lambert was in a stand off with the woman until Jaskier stepped in, defending Yen’s honour much to her irritation).

He likes that Jaskier has fitted seamlessly into their lives at Kaer Morhen. Like Triss said, he’s become some sort of habit amongst them and if he were no longer here, the keep wouldn’t feel like home.

And the fact that Jaskier wants Geralt, is a very heady feeling. While he’s less flirtatious, (though he can still be incredibly brazen when he so chooses) his usual attentions have changed to small tactile touches. A hand on his bicep, fingers fiddling with his hair absent-mindedly, shoulders brushing as they walk side by side.

Triss words echo in his head. He’s a good match for you.

Geralt’s starting to believe it. He’s starting to see just how well he and Jaskier fit. It’s not just physical but a longing for connection, for intimacy.

For love.

He feels like he’s at a precipice with the actor and all he needs to do is jump. He just doesn’t know how.

Geralt glances over to the actor who’s mumbling to himself about how he’s going to be utterly bruised and not in the good way and that sends a flurry of images into his head. One’s featuring Jaskier sporting marks on his neck, claims on his thighs, indents in his arms…

Fuck.

“Geralt, are we doing this or not? Because if we aren’t there is a very lush bed waiting for me to fall into.”

That snaps the witcher out of his reverie. “Do all of your stretches?”

“Yes. See? Look.” Jaskier wiggles his arms. “Limber as a noodle.”

Geralt snorts. He’s so fucking ridiculous. “Alright. We’re going to go over some basic self-defence moves.”

“Not attack?”

“Don’t run before you can walk.”

“Oh gods. You’re so old.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. Old?

Before Jaskier can even blink, Geralt’s grabbed his arms, twisted the younger man’s frame, and pinned his back to his chest. Sandalwood and mint flood his senses, a growl emerging forth in satisfaction of Jaskier’s proximity. He leans to the man’s ear, and remembering that Jaskier’s sense of hearing is heightened, rumbles in a low voice, “Whose old now?”

“Fuck.” It comes out as a breath. Jaskier turns slowly, Geralt loosening his arms to make room. He inhales in deeply as Jaskier’s pupils blow wide with arousal. The smell of ginseng is thick in the air, the spice delicious on Geralt’s tongue. The pair stare at one another, breathing heavily and Geralt can feel his own desire rise up. But while he knows he could take Jaskier right here right now, that isn’t why they came out in the first place.

So he removes his arms and takes a step back. Besides, while he knows Jaskier wants him, they haven’t actually talked about going further than being friends.

He’d rather know they’re on the same page before diving in, now that he knows he wants this.

‘Well. That was…uh.”

“Lost for words?”

“Oh fuck you. You just manhandled me. I think I’m allowed a moment to catch my breath.”

Geralt smirks at Jaskier’s weak excuse. “You called me old.”

“Fine. I’m sorry I called you something that you actually are. You’ve made your point that despite your age, your reflexes are superb.”

“Hm.”

“I’m going to die today aren’t I? That was just a taste of what’s to come.”

“No one’s dying today. Besides, I’ll make it worth your while.”

The gets Jaskier perking up. “Oh?”

“Mhm.”

“What will you give me if I perform well?”

Geralt can smell the amorousness in Jaskier’s words, can see it from the way his frame stands. He’s flirting with him. Shamelessly. Good grief, the man is a minx.

Thankfully, he’s had centuries to practice self-control.

Fuck, he is old.

“Give it your all and you’ll find out.”

Jaskier’s grin is wicked and it goes straight to Geralt’s dick.

This is going to be a long session and Geralt doesn’t mind in the slightest. He’s pretty sure Jaskier doesn’t mind either.

 

 


 

 

After some grueling sparring in which everything of Jaskier’s hurts, he finds himself following Geralt underneath Kaer Morhen. The walk has transformed the keep from a castle to a cave, the halls getting colder the further they descend.

“Whatever it is that you’re showing me had better be worth it because it is bloody cold down here.”

“You’ll warm up.”

“Where? Geralt, there’s nothing here but stone and Melitele’s tits is that—?” Jaskier hears water before he sees it over the witcher’s shoulder.

“Hot springs? Yes.”

“Oh Geralt you are absolutely divine.

“Hm.”

The pair enter the springs, Jaskier’s face lighting in delight the further they go in. To the right is a table stacked with towels of various shapes and colours. To the left is shelves with bottles of what he assumes to be things required of pampering oneself.

But in the middle lies a series of hot springs with steam billowing upwards into the air. There are three of them, all different sizes and piping hot.

 Oh this is going to feel wonderful on his skin.

“Why didn’t you tell me about these sooner?”

Geralt shrugs, making his way over to dressing screen that he steps behind. Jaskier watches clothes be shucked to the side before the very, very, glorious witcher who is very, very, naked appears.

Jaskier doesn’t know where to look. There’s—fuck, he really is that big isn’t he? “Heaven help me.” he mutters to the ceiling once he’s averted his eyes (and trying very hard not to imagine the size of Geralt in him because Melilite’s tits). He misses the smirk on Geralt’s lips.

“Are you coming in?”

The actor rushes to get his clothes off, barely getting behind the screen to do it privately before splashing into the springs.

“Oh my god.” Jaskier moans as the water slips to his shoulders. The heat sinks into his pores and he can feel himself melting. “This is heavenly.

“Good.”

“I’m never leaving. Never ever.”

The pair sit in silence, enjoying the warmth from the pools as it soaks away the tension from the morning’s workout. Jaskier’s eyes are closed until he hears Geralt go under the water. He cracks them open to see the man rise up, droplets running down the crevices of his chest.

His mouth goes dry. He wants to chase those drops with his tongue, lavish praise onto the man’s form while watching his eyes flutter shut in absolute bliss.

Jaskier’s wide awake now, blinking away his desire because, you know, they’re doing the friends thing (because boundaries) that will (hopefully) lead to actual romance. He said he wasn’t going to force Geralt into anything. And he intends to keep his promise.

So, he thinks of his music, of soft tunes sung in the night, lullabies to soothe one to sleep, jaunty harmonies of people dancing around bonfires, shanties sung when drunk.

The lust fades away as a sweet melody plays on in his mind. That is, until he sees Geralt trying to wash his hair and is he using two in one shampoo?

No.

Absolutely not.

“Geralt, darling. Stop.

The witcher looks at him as if he’s gone mad. “What?”

“Your hair. You can’t treat it so poorly. It’s going to fall out!”

“It’s fine Jaskier.” He says exasperatedly, but the actor will hear none of it.

“No. Absolutely not. Your locks are magnificent, and you should treat them with the utmost care. If you can’t do it, I will.”

Jaskier gets up from the pool (and he ignores the heated stare from the witcher but good god that’s an ego boost), wraps a towel around his waist before heading to the left side of the springs. He scans the products on the table, grabbing some oils he knows Yennefer and Triss use in their own hair. Surely they won’t mind him borrowing it.

He then sits down behind Geralt, sticking his legs on either side of the man in the water. “Now, you’re going to let me do this for you or I will sing very loud and out of tune to grate on your ears.”

Geralt snorts. Jaskier knows that the witcher knows his threat is empty. He’s heard him complain enough times about Valdo Marx’s off-key covers. But, because he is a lovely man, he goes with the charade. “Fine.”

“Good. Now sit still.”

He pours one of the oils on his palm, lathering it onto both hands as he begins to massage it into the scalp. Geralt’s hair, as he expected, is velvety smooth. The strands are fine against his fingers and he can move them through smoothly, as if he were drifting them through the ocean’s waves.

He works meticulously, making sure to get all of the hair covered in the oil so it can soak in and rejuvenate the tendrils. Jaskier is so focused on his task he doesn’t see Geralt’s eyes fall shut as his body relaxes under the ministrations of his fingers.

“You’re very good at this.” The witcher murmurs, drowsy from all the things occurring in the springs.

“I did this for most of my lovers. None had hair as beautiful as yours though.”

Geralt rumbles and it’s a happy one Jaskier notes. He can feel the delight from the compliment. He grins. Looks like the man has a praise kink.

He files it away for later. If they ever get to that point. Which from the sparring session this morning looks quite promising. And now. In the hot springs.

But again, friends first.

Jaskier continues his work on the white hair, taking his time because you don’t rush perfection. But time passes by too quickly for his liking as before he knows it, the hair has been shampooed and conditioned. “There, all done. You can go under now.”

Geralt moves out of the leg’s embrace and submerges himself underneath. When he comes up, Jaskier trails the droplets once again. He doesn’t see the golden sunrise watching him intently, taking in his sharp breath when he follows the rivers down his chest to interesting places (not that he can see them because of the stupid steam). He misses the witcher moving closer to him, till he’s chest to chest with Jaskier, his gold eyes blown black.

“Oh.” Jaskier gulps. Geralt’s pecs are at eye-level. He drags his gaze up. The man stares at him so intensely that there are no words to come forth.

The witcher raises his hand, placing it on the side of Jaskier’s face. It grasps firmly, a steady thing against his trembling. His lips open slightly in a small gasp, making eyes narrow in on the movement.

Jaskier can hear Geralt’s heartbeat. It is slow, stable, and rests just underneath the black scar that once was his white wolf’s soul mark. He gently traces it, his finger nimble against the rough edges. The yearning to lick it, soothe it with his tongue is stronger than ever.

He wonders if this is more of their bond than themselves. Because, looking at Geralt once again, he looks feral. And Jaskier himself feels more primitive in this moment. More animalistic.

He looks to the witcher’s lips, who is moving his other hand to grip his chin, tilting it towards him, to his own lips and then…

Lambert and Eskel burst into the springs, guffawing boisterously as they dive in. Geralt whips away from Jaskier and the actor can’t tell if he’s thankful for the interruption or downright pissed.

It’s a bit of both.

He feels Geralt’s embarrassment in their connection, briefly figuring that the man wishes he hadn’t been close to him, but with a look at his white wolf, Jaskier knows that isn’t the case. He’s embarrassed they almost got caught.

He simply smiles and giggles, “Absolute wankers.”

Geralt grins, the lust gone from his eyes and mirth replacing it.

 

 


 

 

Geralt finds himself in the gardens of Kaer Morhen, sitting on a stone bench, fiddling with a buttercup in his fingers. He’s been here since walking Jaskier to his session with Yen, to mull over what happened in the hot springs.

He almost lost control. If it hadn’t been for his brothers, he’s pretty sure he would have lain with Jaskier right then and there.

Which, the man seems to be fine with, but Geralt knows that Jaskier wants to discuss these things before hand. Heck, he wants to discuss these things before hand.

Besides, he’s confident that while he wants Jaskier, the moment was more the soul bond intensifying his desire than himself simply wanting.

And that’s why he needs to talk to Jaskier. To make sure they are both on the same page with what they wish for. But how to do it…

That remains to be seen.

God, he’s so out of his element here.

Mercifully, his daughter arrives to stir him away from his thoughts. “Dad! What are you doing out here?”

“Thinking.”

“You? Thinking? Do you even know how to use your brain?”

That earns her a glare. She only smirks as she sits beside him. “What’s that?” Ciri points to the flower in his hand.

“Buttercup.”

“We have buttercups? Why? Aren’t they poisonous?”

“Only if eaten. You plan on tasting one?”

“Eck. No. I’m not a rabbit.”

“Wouldn’t touch them either.”

“Do you always have to do that? Fact check people.”

“It’s important not to exaggerate.”

“Jaskier does.”

“Jaskier is an idiot.”

“Like you actually believe that.” she huffs.

“Hm.” A smile dances on his lips. Ciri catches it, him staring fondly at the flower.

“So, are you going to ask him out?”

That snaps Geralt out of it. He gives his daughter a bewildered look.

“Oh come on. I’m not blind. You two make googly eyes at each other all the time.”

“I do not.”

“Yeah. You totally do. Mom and I laugh about it all the time.”

Geralt isn’t sure how he feels about his daughter and ex-girlfriend sniggering about him behind his back. Especially concerning his love life.

“It’s complicated.”

“How? You like him, he likes you. Seems simple to me.”

“It’s not.”

“Is this because of the…what did Triss call it, soul mate thing? Isn’t that like, Destiny throwing a boyfriend into your lap?”

Weren’t they not supposed to be talking about this to their child? “No.”

“Then what is it about?”

The witcher sighs. “Nothing Ciri.”

“Well, if you want my opinion—”

“I don’t.”

“I’m giving it anyway because men are idiots. And when a man doesn’t communicate, you call him out.”

“Yen teach you that?”

“Yes. Stop interrupting me. I like Jaskier. He’s quirky and funny and okay, the music lessons suck because he’s really annoying with them, but when we’re not practicing he’s actually really cool. And he makes you happy. You’ve smiled more with him around than I’ve ever seen you.”

Geralt doesn’t want that to be true because smiling isn’t a thing he does, but deep down he knows Ciri is right.

“I just think, if you gave it a chance, you could be really happy. And like, that’s pretty awesome. I know it hasn’t been easy with this whole soul mate thing, but I don’t know, I think that you deserve a chance at the real deal. Mom has Triss so you should have someone too.”

“Would you want that?”

“What? Jaskier as a parent? I mean, I have three already, I don’t mind a fourth. He’s kinda like a fun uncle, but…” she taps her nose in thought, “when I saw Jaskier I just knew there was something different about him. He…he knows a part of me that I haven’t seen in a long time. I didn’t realize how much I missed back home.”

Geralt’s heart breaks. He loves Ciri, knows claiming the law of surprise was the right move, but if he could give her back her old life, he would.

“I love being here though. With you and Yen and Triss and everyone else. You’re my family now. And I know why I had to go. But it’s nice to have someone who knows that life too, you know? So, I think Jaskier is someone really important not just for you, but for me too. I want him to be happy. And he’s the happiest when he’s with you.”

She gives him a small smile, genuineness in her big doe eyes. Geralt pushes a tendril of her hair back behind her ear, reminded of when Jaskier pointed out how he knew Geralt’s love for his daughter came through tender touches.

“Okay.”

“Wait what? You’re just giving in like that? I don’t need to do anymore convincing?”

Geralt chuckles. “Yes Ciri. I’m not an idiot.”

“That’s a lie. You avoided Jaskier for like, the first whole month he was here till Triss kicked you in the ass.”

“Language.”

“With an uncle like Lambert you can’t catch me on swearing. Besides, you all do it around me all the time.”

“Hm.”

Ciri grins. “You know I’m right. Okay. I’m going to tell mom about this. You should ask Jaskier out on like, some super dreamy date. He’s a total romantic.”

With that, she skips away, her grin greater than before. She pauses before she leaves, looking Geralt straight on. “I’m really, really glad you have him Dad. I’m glad I have him too.”

And then she’s gone, leaving a buttercup in his fingers and a heart full of love, thankful for his daughter’s blessing.

He’s ready to jump. And he knows exactly how to do it.

 

 


 

 

Jaskier, after his long session with Yennefer, cleans himself up and goes straight to the music room. There, in the evening, he continues his composing. A new song has appeared in his mind and he knows is going to be better than before. He hums under his breath, writing the words that come forth accompanied by melodies and harmonies and he’s over the moon.

The hot springs left him inspired (and a very delectable man leaving little to the imagination may have also had something to do with it).

The tune weaving itself together underneath his voice and fingers is so good that he fails to see someone enter the room.

“Jaskier, do you mind if we speak for a moment?”

The actor looks up to see Vesemir sitting down into one of the chairs near the fire. “Of course. Let me just put all this away.”

He shuffles the papers into a neat pile, then puts the guitar away in its case, bringing his full attention to the elder, who gazes at him with that pensive stare.

“So, what do you need?”

“I want to talk to you about what is occurring between you and Geralt.”

Oh. What?

“I’m sorry?”

“Something has happened between the two of you. I’m not sure what, it’s none of my business, but the two of you are growing closer.”

“You want to know if it’s the bond or us.”

“Yes. Geralt, as you know, is not very forthcoming about how he feels. You, however, never seem to know when to be quiet about yours.”

Fair point. “I suppose there’s some truth there.”

Vesemir nods. “So, you see why I have come to you for answers.”

“Well, I’m not sure what I can tell you. Geralt and I, we’ve chatted about the bond. We’ve agreed on being friends.”

“But you want more.”

“Vesemir I really think this is a conversation that should be kept between Geralt and myself with all do respect.”

“Calm down son. I’m not here to deter you from pursuing him. The opposite actually.”

“Oh.”

“Destiny has given the two of you two each other but Geralt will run from her as long as she’s pursuing him. If you want to be with him, you’ll need to be careful with what you speak. The man may not say much but words hold great power over him.”

That’s quite good advice, Jaskier thinks to himself. “Thank you. Does this mean you’re giving us your blessing?”

“There is nothing to be given. You are both adults, perfectly capable of making your own choices. I do think this though will be an intelligent one for the both of you.”

“Well then.”

Vesemir nods and gets up. “There is one more thing you should know. If you and Geralt are to pursue this seriously, you must be wary of who you trust. Geralt has made many enemies over the centuries and if knowledge gets out that you are his mate, they will not hesitate to hurt you to get to him. We’ve seen what the bond can do when you are put at risk. Be careful.”

Vesemir leaves Jaskier staring into the fire soberingly. He has made some excellent points, one’s that would never have crossed his mind. While the actor is thankful for the strange approval of a possible union, he also knows to take Vesemir’s words to heart.

If Geralt and him accept their bond…fuck. Oh gods, this is going to be messy. Jaskier can feel it in his bones.

He’s staring into the fire, sagged into his chair, mind contemplating Vesemir’s advice, when Geralt comes in. He can sense the man’s worry spike but eases it with his own tiredness. “Hello Geralt. Fancy seeing you here.”

“I was looking for you. Are you…alright?”

“I’ll be fine. Just some things to think about. What about you? I can feel your nervousness.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you being able to tell what I’m feeling.”

“No more witchers can’t feel business then?”

“No.”

Thank fuck. I honestly thought for the remainder of our lives I was going to have to remind you that you do, in fact, feel. Probably till the day I died.”

 “Glad to have saved you the hassle then.”

“For you, it wouldn’t have been too bad. Now, what’s with the late-night visit? Oh. Is this about what happened at the hot springs?”

“Yes.”

Shit. Is Geralt going to tell him they crossed a line? Oh goodness he pushed him to far with the chest touching didn’t he? He knows he shouldn’t have but it had seemed that Geralt was into it and Jaskier is very good at reading people, especially Geralt, but then again, you never know with these kinds of things and the bond was acting particularly strong in that moment and—

“Jaskier. Breathe.”

Oh. He’s panicking.

A hand places itself on his shoulder, Geralt crouching and Jaskier feels a wave of tranquility wash over him. Wait a minute…

“Did you just…calm me down?”

“You were freaking out.”

“Geralt, you just calmed me down.

The lightbulb goes off. “That…I’m not supposed to be able to do that.”

“Not in an anchor bond no. In a soulmate one, yes.”

And for Jaskier, Geralt’s eyes in wonder at what he just did, eases all the remaining insecurity away, cementing that this man before him, is in fact, his soulmate.

Even if he doesn’t remember the words that had been on his arm, he knows in the deepest parts of him, that Geralt, his white wolf, is his.

“I came in here to ask you something.”

The man interrupts Jaskier’s romantic musing, the hand now gone from his shoulder. The feeling of anxiousness rises again.

“Alright…” Jaskier says tentatively.

“Would you…like to go out? On a date?”

Yes. A million times and billion times YES.

“Absolutely.”

Geralt lets out a relieved sigh, his smile blindingly more brilliant than Jaskier has ever seen it. He can feel pure joy in the man, happiness that is so infectious it spurs itself into Jaskier’s own chest.

“Tomorrow then. We’ll spend the day together.”

A whole day? God bless whatever deity has provoked this in Geralt. May it never end because Jaskier definitely did not think this day would come for another century.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

 

 


 

 

The next morning finds the pair in their own rooms, getting ready to head out. The entire keep is charged with excitement, for everyone inside knows about the fated pair.

Who have finally gotten their shit together.

“Honestly I’m surprised it took this long.”

“Ciri, I didn’t ask for your opinion on dating. I asked for it on what to wear.”

“Dad, you’ll be fine. You’re like a high-schooler with their first crush.”

An accurate comparison. Not that he’ll tell her that. “Hm.”

“Look. Just. Okay you sit.” Ciri grabs him, dragging him to the edge of his bed. “I will find you something and you will wear it.”

“Ciri.”

“Dad. Jaskier is a famous celebrity with a personal stylist so he knows not to wear something out of season. You really want to be walking around in public looking like Uncle Lambert?

Kid has a fair point. “Fine.”

“Awesome. Alright, how do you feel about slacks?”

 

 


 

 

Jaskier is in a right state, sitting amongst a pool of his clothes as he wails. “I don’t…nothing I own is good enough! What do you wear on a date with a witcher?”

“Jaskier, your overthinking this. This is Geralt we’re talking about. He’d drool if you were wearing garbage bag.” Yennefer files her nails on his bed. “The man really isn’t going to care about what your wearing. He’s just glad you said yes.”

I care. This is our first date and first dates are very important. They set the tone for the relationship! I need to look dashing! Ravishing. Utterly delectable with a hint of you can’t have this. Of course, he absolutely can but it’s the idea. Forbidden fruit and all that.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes. “Jaskier, seriously, just pick something.”

“Yen, what’s the weather like?” asks Jaskier, who’s sorting through the pile around him and complete ignoring the sorceress’s comment.

She peeks out the window. “It…looks really cold actually. Weird. We’re not into autumn yet.”

“So I’ll need a coat then. Oh! Oh. I know just the thing.”

Jaskier dashes into the closet before emerging with the item.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.” Yennefer can’t help but laugh.

“I never joke about fashion my dear. And I told you, lavender’s my colour.”

 

 


 

 

Geralt fiddles with the cuff of his coat as he stands by the garage. Jaskier is, unsurprisingly, running late. So he leans against his bike, helmets ready to go for the pair, as he waits. The witcher doesn’t know if Jaskier has ever ridden on a motorcycle so hopefully it won’t scare him off.

Fuck. He hopes none of today scares him off.

Voices drift from inside the keep, telling Geralt that Jaskier and, of fucking course its Eskel, are coming. His frowns, knowing that the actor probably just asked his brother for directions.

He rubs his chest in annoyance.

“Geralt!”

He’s about ready to lecture Jaskier on his tardiness, but the words die on his lips because the man is…

Fuck, he’s really glad Ciri dressed him.

Light blue slacks with a pastel pink sweater, all encompassed by some purple coat has Jaskier appearing like a spring maiden. He’s breathtaking.

Geralt can’t say anything when the pair get to him, can’t utter a word until Eskel laughs, claps a hand on the back of Jaskier’s back. “Have fun guys.”

His brother leaves, with Jaskier’s cornflower blues full of excitement. “So, what do you have planned?”

“There’s a town near here. Triss’s shop is there.”

“Oh! That’s the Town of Gwenllech!”

“Yeah. Figured we’d head down there and spend the day.”

“That sounds lovely Geralt.”

He grunts, bringing his attention to the helmets so Jaskier doesn’t see his embarrassment at the compliment. He probably feels it through the bond anyway.

“Here. Take this.”

He hands a helmet to the actor. “Are we riding down there, on this?”

“Yeah.”

“You bike?”

“Never got into cars. Rode horses in the old days till they became obsolete. Bikes have a similar build.”

 “Makes sense. Does your bike have a name?”

“Roach.”

“Roach.” Jaskier deadpans. “You named your vehicle after a bug?”

“No. I name it after my horse.”

Jaskier softens. “I’m sure they would be quite pleased with that.”

“Come on. Let’s get going. We’ll want to get down the mountain before the afternoon.”

“Well,” Jaskier puts on the helmet. “Let’s be off then.”

 

 


 

 

One of the many things Jaskier enjoys in life is the waist of a strong man. He’s read enough novels to know the cliché, but he honestly does love it. This close, he can smell Geralt’s rich spice, see the strength of his neck and enjoy the softness of the hair.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to revel in it as much as he likes. They get down the mountain much sooner than he expected and pull up to a little shop with flowers spread all around. A little sign hangs over the doorway as Jaskier walks in and he brightens upon seeing his favourite redhead.

“Triss!”

“Jaskier! You finally got out of the keep huh?”

“Yes. Geralt is showing me around town. It’s a lovely little place you have here.”

“Thanks. So, Geralt’s taking you out hm?”

A blush comes forth. “Ah yes. We’re on a date.”

“Really? It’s about time. Here, make sure he takes you to the greenhouse. It’s beautiful this time of year.”

“I will. Any other places I should visit?”

“Nope. This is your date. I’m not getting any more involved.”

Geralt walks in then, hands in the pockets of his jacket. Goodness he looks bewitching. He’s forgone his usual clothing for something a bit more dapper and Jaskier appreciates it very much. A nice light brown jacket, fitting shirt and pants, the boots. The man truly is a marvel.

“Thanks Triss. See you later?”

“If Geralt doesn’t keep you out too long.” she says with a wink. He grins back before following Geralt out of the shop.

“Was visiting Triss not part of the date?”

“I don’t usually bring a third person on a date.”

“Good. Neither do I. Something in common then.” The pair exchange an amused glance.

“Triss let’s me keep Roach at her shop when I’m in town so I don’t need to pay for a ticket.”

“Kind of her. She mentioned something about a greenhouse?”

“We’ll visit it later. First, you need to eat.”

Jaskier grasps his stomach and it growls in response. “Oh. I didn’t even realize.”

“I figured. You seemed distracted this morning.”

“Well, you had said the garage, but I didn’t know where that was, and Yennefer was absolutely no help. So, I was wandering around until Eskel found me and then I—”

Geralt reaches down and intertwines his hand with Jaskier as they walk. He goes speechless. Blue eyes look at the hands, then to the witcher.

“Is this alright?”

Oh what a darling man. “It is more than alright.”

And as they walk together, Jaskier leans into Geralt’s side, nose burrowing into the coat to hide his flush at his date’s sweetness, grinning.

 

 


 

 

After lunch at one of Geralt’s favourite haunts, the pair wander around the little market that is set up. Jaskier flutters between the kiosks, oohing and awing at the trinkets. Geralt follows closely behind, keeping an eye out for any danger that may befall the pair. The town is pretty isolated, so it’s unlikely anything will happen. But, in all of Geralt’s many years of existence, he’s learned better than to doubt the quiet.

“Geralt look!”

Jaskier stands at one booth, filled to the brim with ribbon and necklaces. He makes his way to the man, peering over his shoulder at what he has in his hands. It’s a black tie with a wolf pendant attached.

“Suiting, don’t you think?”

“Hm.”

“I’ll take it.”

The keeper nods, taking Jaskier’s cash and putting in their register. The actor grins, before placing in tenderly into his coat. “Where to now dearheart?”

Geralt preens under the endearment as Jaskier links their fingers once more. “There’s a stall I want to check out before we head to the greenhouse.”

“Wonderful. Lead the way then.”

They weave through the crowd, stopping in front of a booth with a plethora of blades. “Geralt, these are weapons.”

“Yes. You need one.”

“I—what?” Jaskier sputters out.

“To defend yourself.”

“Geralt, I don’t know how to use one.”

“I’ll train you to. But for now, it’s best you have something.”

“Do you have one on you?”

“I have six.”

Geralt watches in amusement as Jaskier’s eyebrow skyrocket before he looks around Geralt’s figure to see where they may be hidden. The once over is followed by a deep blush.

“Pick one out.”

“You know, I’ve had many things bought for me. But a dagger? That’s a new one. Only you Geralt.”

The man prances around, murmuring about the beauty of the weapons and Geralt feels the fondness in Jaskier for him, so he knows the remarks are not done in offense but rather in delight.

He understands that Geralt wants him safe. That equipping him with a blade is him saying he cares.

You may not use words, but your tone and actions convey everything your saying anyway.

“This one.” The dagger is raised in the afternoon sun, the rays glinting on the blade and jewelled hilt with rainbow colours.

“Hm.”

Geralt takes it, checking it over. It’s a decent weight, a little heavier than he would prefer due to the gems in the handle, but the blade is edged well, which tells him it’s been sharpened recently. Good. That means it will bleed when used.

“Well, does it pass your inspection, white wolf?”

A twitch is his lips as he says it, Geralt’s eyebrow cocking up. “It’s not bad. How much?”

“Three hundred forty złoty.”

He reaches into his wallet, pulls out the amount, hands it over along with the blade. The woman wraps it up and gives it to Jaskier. “It’s a good pick. Enchanted with some magic too. As long as the jewels are in the handle, it will not miss its mark.”

“Thank you.”

She nods before turning to another customer. Geralt outstretches his hand for Jaskier to rejoin and he does as if it were as simple as breathing. “Well, I must say now that I have a pretty dagger I’m more inclined to test it out.”

Geralt snorts. “That’s all it takes? A pretty blade?”

“Geralt, surely you must know by now that anything beautiful will make me invest far more into it than if it weren’t.”

“Good to know.”

“To the greenhouse then?”

“To the greenhouse.”

 

 


 

 

Jaskier didn’t know what to expect of the greenhouse. He figures it would be something small and quaint, with a mixture of vegetables, fruits, and flowers. He did not think it would be a large glass building that had lavish gardens around it with walkways amongst it’s petals.

“Oh my…Geralt this is…”

“Surprised?”

Delightfully so. This is absolutely remarkable.”

“Do you want to go inside?”

“Yes please.”

So inside they go, and Jaskier is enthralled at the transportation of worlds. No longer is he in some small town but now, now, he has entered an enchanted forest. Trees loom large to the roof, pastel colours swirl forth, illuminated by small lanterns placed beside the beds. Strings of lights go from branch to branch and Jaskier can hear the butterflies wings hum, the birds tweet, and the river glide.

“It’s magical. Geralt, thank you for bringing me here.”

The witcher shrugs. “I’m just glad you like it.”

“This is by far, the best date I have ever been on.”

Jaskier can feel Geralt’s satisfaction with hearing that in their bond and it makes him smile. The man truly does care more than one would think.

They walk the path, admiring the beauty of the forest, till they come across the waterfall. No one else seems to be around due to the sun beginning to set, casting the greenhouse in a twilight glow.

“Do you want to sit?”

A stone bench rests by the pool that the waterfall leads into. Jaskier nods, sitting down beside the man, gazing at the koi fish in the pond.

“I’ve been having a lovely time.”

“Good.”

Jaskier bites his lip. He wants to ask this next particular thing, but he isn’t quite sure how he wants to go about it.

“Ask.”

Of course. Geralt must have felt his unease through their bond.

“I don’t want you to get mad. It’s, well, it’s an invasive question and I don’t want to cause you further pain if unnecessary.”

Ask Jaskier.”

He huffs. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Your mark. Yennefer said you had cut it? With a blade?”

“Hm.”

“I just…I ask because witchers aren’t supposed to have marks and you do. But you chose to get rid of it. Why?” Triss words echo in his head.

He’s a special kind of different.

Jaskier feels Geralt’s fingers grasp his, the calloused tips scratching his palm. “We don’t know why my mark stayed, why the mutagens didn’t destroy it. As for why I removed it...”

He takes a breath. Jaskier’s grip squeezes in encouragement.

“I was already different than the others, for taking more mutagens. I didn’t…want another thing to make me stand out. So, I snuck into the restricted part of the keep, found a blade that was cursed, and sliced it across my mark. The pain…it was worse than the trials. Vesemir was furious. But it did the trick. The words vanished. The blade made the skin bubble and bleed until there was nothing but the scar.”

“Do you know what they said?”

“No. I never looked. None of us did. They would cover them when we trained. The trials don’t remove memories, so even if the mark were gone, we’d still know our mate when we met them.”

“And witchers can’t have soulmates on the path.”

“Yes.”

“How common were they? Back then?”

“More than they are now.”

“Do the others?”

“No. Eskel’s and Lambert’s disappeared after the Trial of the Grasses. Yen gave hers up to change her appearance. Triss sacrificed her mark to gain an affinity in herbalism. Ciri hasn’t gotten hers yet.”

“Did theirs go black?”

“No. No sorceress has mark. It is seen as an ultimate sacrifice. Losing love for power.”

“How tragic. But, I suppose they had their reasons.”

“Hm.”

“I’m sorry. That you felt a need to lose it. I’m sorry you’ve been taught that soulmates are weaknesses.”

Geralt pushes a tendril of hair back behind Jaskier’s ear. “Times have changed. Things are different now.”

“Indeed they are dearheart.”

“What about you? I hope you don’t—”

“It’s alright Geralt. I knew when I asked you’d want to know.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No. But I want to.”

“I can’t see it now.”

“That would be because my glamour is up. It hides it.”

“Can you…”

Jaskier nods, closing his eyes and peels away the glamour. He hears a sharp inhale as the world’s sounds amplify. When he opens his eyes, Geralt’s face is in awe.

“You…”

Normally, Jaskier is very flattered at the speechlessness but now, he finds himself wishing for words.

“Yes. It’s quite a bit to take in.”

“Jas…”

The nickname makes him shiver. “I know I am a handsome individual, especially without the whole mask.”

“You are.”

And well, now Jaskier’s the one’s who’s speechless. He can’t form any words. Geralt, the man who grunts and groans as his vocabulary has left the master without a single thing to say. It isn’t until he feels Geralt’s fingers tracing his mark that he comes back to.

Right. The story.

“I burned it. It was the worst thing I have ever felt.”

“Why?”

“When I was in my early twenties, I had met a woman. The Countess De Stael. I didn’t have a glamour at the time, so my features were always out and about. The Countess took a fancy to me but, I had no interest in anyone who wasn’t my soulmate. She must have heard of that, because the first words she said to me were the ones that matched my mark.”

He can feel Geralt’s heart break for him. He knows where this is going.

“So, I fell in love with her. Madly. She was, gods, a whirlwind of a woman. But I never saw her with a mark. And I had found it strange, but she told me she always covered it with makeup, as to not draw attention to herself. The fool I was, I fell for it. It wasn’t until one night where we were in the throes of passion in her shower, when I realized that the water would have washed away any makeup on her. And her body was stark clean. There was no black or white mark anywhere. We ended up having a row in the middle of her foyer. She kicked me to the curb, insisting the marks did not matter, not when it came to love. I was utterly heartbroken and furious. So, in a fit of rage, drunk of my ass, I found my way to a mage’s home, bought myself an enchanted lighter, and burned it.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything. Only circling Jaskier’s knuckles with his thumb.

“Once I was sober and seen what I had done, I panicked. I called my mother, told her everything and she came over with a spell. A spell from her court, as she is full fae. Her court, they have a specific kind of glamour they use. It allows a descendant of the court to protect oneself from being perceived as more than human from others. Unless you have witnessed the individual remove their glamour; they will appear human to you.”

“A hefty spell.”

“Yes. And like with all chaos, it requires sacrifice.”

Jaskier turns to look Geralt in the eye. He wants to make sure he understands. “The sacrifice was the words my soulmate would say to me when we first met. Now, as the mark had been destroyed, it could not be removed, but my memories of it, they could be. The reason I cannot remember what they say, is because I gave up the memory of them. I have my glamour because I no longer know what the words are.”

 Jaskier waits for Geralt to speak, but in true spirit, Geralt pulls him into an embrace. It is warm and loving and precisely what he needs. Tears drip down, landing on the witcher’s coat. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m ruining your jacket.” He attempts to clean the shoulder, to distract himself from the moment but Geralt grasps his hand, stilling the movement.

“And despite all that, you still love.”

Jaskier laughs. “Oh darling. Love is easy for it comes in many forms. What I had for the Countess has not been replicated. Well, until now.”

He places a hand over Geralt’s mark. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we.”

Geralt places a hand on his cheek. “So it would seem.”

“I believe kindred spirits is term we’re looking for.”

“Or we’re just two people who are choosing one another.”

“Now who’s the romantic?”

“Jas…”

He knows what Geralt is asking. The man looks at his lips, and then to his eyes. “Geralt, if we do this, it will confirm the bond. I need to be sure. I nee—”

“Yes. I am…terrified, but, I want this. With you.”

“Good. Just needed to check.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Then they kiss.

And it isn’t fireworks. It’s not French, no teeth clashing, or lips being ripped apart. No, this kiss…

It’s curled up by the fire under a blanket. A towel fresh out of the dryer after a shower. It’s a surprise bouquet a loved one has brought, dishes done and put away without asking. It’s falling asleep in one’s arms and waking up with tea freshly brewed at your bedside.

It’s the simple things. The small things. The details that make one fall in love.

That is what the kiss feels like.

That’s what the bond feels like as it slides into place between the two of them. Jaskier, glamour free and Geralt, embracing his heart.

They pull away, Jaskier leaving one more chastely on Geralt’s lips. “Well, that was, um.”

“Hm. We should probably head back. It’s getting late.”

“Yes. Good idea.”

Geralt gets up first, extending a hand to Jaskier who takes it, feeling high from the newly placed bond. It’s going to take some getting used to, but he’s excited to see how it comes to life.

The pair leaves the greenhouse, making their way back through the market, back to Triss’s shop. The streets are empty, lampposts slowly coming on as they walk. Jaskier is feeling very serene against Geralt’s body in dusk.

But then the man stops. Tenses. Jaskier feels apprehension. “Geralt?”

“Something’s not right.”

Jaskier looks around the area, noting that they’re in some sort of courtyard. Must’ve been were the market was. “I can’t see anything strange.”

But Geralt’s instincts are better than Jaskier’s, so he trusts him when he says something isn’t right. Because it as it turns out, Geralt’s instincts are almost always right.

A chaos blast rips the pair apart, bodies suddenly portaling into the space. Jaskier’s arms are pinned behind him and he can see people piling on top of Geralt who’s blades are out and swinging.

“GERALT!” He shouts before a hand clamps on his mouth. But the witcher hears it, throwing someone off his shoulder as he runs towards the actor.

“JASKIER!”

He hears the crackle of chaos behind him, screaming in his ear and he bites the hand that silences him. The person hisses, dragging him as he kicks and shouts against his restraints.

But Geralt isn’t fast enough. The mutagens aren’t kicking in.

Before Jaskier knows it, he’s sucked into a portal, Geralt disappearing in the blink of an eye.

And then he’s knocked out cold.

 

 

 


Outfit Inspiration: 

 

Jaskier: 

 

Jaskier Date: 

 

Geralt: 

Geralt Date: 

 

 

Ciri: 

 

 

Vesemir: 

 

Yennefer: 

 

Triss: 

 

Eskel:

 

 

Roach: 

Notes:

Whoops?

Songs to get me through this wild ride? Bad Habits by EDDIE feat. Enya Angel and The Same Way by No Mana feat. Voicians.

See you beauties by August 22 or earlier.

Chapter 5: I Feel Nothin'

Notes:

I definitely debated letting you all stew for a bit after that cliff hanger. But then I was like, nah. I'm not that cruel.

So here's Chapter 5. Little bit of Jaskier whump folks. Just a heads up.

Outfit Inspiration is our group in their pajamas because its bedtime. Jaskier and Geralt were out late due to smooches. Until, you know, one got kidnapped. And our little party is not going to rest until he's home safe. Or, Geralt isn't going to let anyone rest till he's home safe.

We stan protective boyfriends in this house!

I don't own canon and at this point, I really have let little to none of it in this story. Creative liberties amiright?

Enjoy lovelies!

Fun Fact: Geralt was originally supposed to be unconscious for this entire chapter. But, like soul magic, writing can be incredibly unpredictable, so our favourite witcher stays awake.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Batshit

Chapter 5: But I Feel Nothin’

“Where do I go,
where do I go from here
if I don't see you anywhere?”

― Nicola An, Soul Song: Poetry and Prose of Awakening to Divine Love

 

 

 

He’s gone.

Jaskier’s gone.

Geralt doesn’t…where did…how…

No. He just had him.

The witcher loses it.

Bodies fall, the street runs red, but none of it matters.

Because Jaskier is gone.

Geralt rushes to the spot where the portal had appeared, the one that his mate had disappeared through, sniffing the air, trying to find a scent of the actor, anything to tell him he’s okay.

But he finds nothing. All he smells is deceased bodies and fresh blood. No sandalwood and mint.

Geralt falls to his knees, hands placed on the cobblestone and he howls into the night, the sound aching because his mate is gone. He cries into his bond, searching desperately for anything to show that Jaskier could be alive.

That’s when he feels it. A steady beat. A thump that he can see in his mind’s eye is tethered to something. He reaches for it, follows it, and it leads him to a heart. One that beats soundly.

Jaskier.

He’s alive.

Wherever he is, his heart is still beating. Geralt focuses, listening to it carefully to make sure it doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t register hands placed on his arms, doesn’t recognize the voice beside him frantic before the crackle of a portal comes with more voices and footsteps. A ruffle of a dress comes down beside him.

“Geralt.” It says softly. “Geralt where is Jaskier?”

“He’s gone.” But alive. Thank fuck he’s still alive. Geralt only wants to hear that heartbeat to make sure it keeps going.

A hiss happens. “Geralt, listen to me, you need to move. We can’t find Jaskier if you don’t move.”

He knows that voice. It…sounds familiar. They…want to help. He moves.

“Good. That’s good. Triss, see if you can trace any magical signature.”

“On it. You get him inside. Lie him down. Yen, his mutagens aren’t kicking in.”

Shit. Okay. Check for the signature then go to the library. We’ll figure this out. Come on Geralt.”

He hears the buzz of another portal, winces as he goes through, but the smell of the keep is reassuring. There’s the faint lingering of sandalwood and mint.

“Alright. You lay here. I’m getting Vesemir. We’ll find him Geralt.”

The words pass through him, as Geralt inhales the familiar scent of his mate. He knows they aren’t here though, knows that he can’t find them the way he is now, so he needs to calm down. Needs to regain control.

As long as the heartbeat is still steady, Geralt can do it. He can be in control.

Jaskier needs him to be in control. With his anchor missing, the witcher needs to do the work himself, needs to be a whole soul till he finds the other half.

It seems like eons pass as he lays in the library, trying to regain himself when a voice rings through.

“Dad?”

The tone is slightly scared, not of him, and the scent of primrose is soothing. His pup.

“Ciri.”

“You…okay?”

No. He’s not. “No.”

Arms comes around him from behind him, squeezing tightly. “It’ll be okay. Whatever it is. You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Ciri’s presence helps bring balance to Geralt. She grounds him, reminding him that he has a job to do.

“Thank you.” he presses her hand on his chest. Yennefer and Vesemir come into the room then, eyes alight with worry.

“You’re…cognizant.” The sorceress states. “I thought you’d be losing it.”

Geralt pauses. He should be losing it. He should be tearing down walls and buildings to find Jaskier. But…he’s not.   

“Pup, did you and Jaskier accept the bond?” Vesemir gives an inquisitive look.

“Yes.”

“So, now with the soul bond in full effect, Geralt’s what? Rational?”

“For now. But I don’t know how long that may last as long as he and Jaskier are separated. With the anchor not here…”

“Geralt could revert.”

“Guys, I think we have bigger problems to worry about.” says Ciri, eyes wide as she pokes her head out from behind Geralt.

“Fuck. Ciri, when did you get here?”

“Few moments ago.”

“How? You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I had a feeling I had to be here, in the lab.”

Yennefer places her hands on her temples. “Okay. That’s…something we’ll deal with later. We’re on a time crunch, with Geralt possibly being a ticking bomb. How are you feeling?”

Geralt sighs. “Shitty. But I can feel him. He’s alive.”

The room breathes out relief. “At this point, I’m not even going to question what soulmate magic does. Can you reach out to him? Contact him somehow?” Yen asks.

“I don’t—”

“Just try.”

Geralt does. He follows the sound of the heart beating, attempts to see its source but is met with static. “No.”

Fuck. At least Triss is checking the area for a signature. Geralt, what happened?”

“We were walking to Triss’s shop when they attacked. Came through portals and grabbed Jaskier. They piled on me so I couldn’t get to him. Then, he’d vanished. One moment he was there, the next gone.”

Silence reigns supreme in the room. No one speaks because they don’t know what to say. It isn’t until Triss portals in, that people are drawn out of their own thoughts.

“Okay. We’ve got a problem.”

Yennefer looks to Triss. “What is it?”

“The magical signature? It’s some pretty wobbly chaos. Whoever cast the portal is really new to magic. But the movements…”

Triss mimes it with her own hands, Yennefer’s eyes widening. Geralt looks between the pair, not having a fucking clue what’s going on. “What is it Triss?” He can feel his anger bubbling. Feel the urge to find his mate increasing.

But his own anger doesn’t match Yen’s whose eyes blaze. “Of fucking course that cockroach is back.”

“Yen, who is it?” hisses Geralt, not interested in playing games. He needs to find Jaskier now.

“Stregobor.”

 

 


 

 

When Jaskier comes to, he finds himself strapped to a chair, similar to the ones he usually sits in at his doctor’s office. Actually, as he looks around, he thinks he may just be in one. The fluorescent lights flicker, causing him to wince as his vision goes from black to burning white.

Fuck. His head hurts.

“Ah. You are awake. Good.”

The voice comes from a man with shrewd blue eyes, his hair sticking out to the sides as he sits in some suit in a desk chair off to the side.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“No Julian. You do not.”

Jaskier freezes. This man knows his name.

“How do you—”

“Know your true name? I must admit Julian, you were hard to track down. You did a splendid job erasing your past to create your moniker.”

“It’s not a moniker.”

“Isn’t it? Any name not gifted by one’s parents is one hiding from oneself.”

Jaskier already hates this man with a burning passion. “Who are you?” he seethes out.

“Stregobor Irion.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard of you.”

The man seems ticked that Jaskier doesn’t know who he is, which tells him the individual is vain. That may come to his advantage later.

“Well, be that as it may, in the next while you and I shall be very well acquainted.”

“I doubt that. What do you want?”

“Do you know Julian, that it is because of me that anchor bonds exist?”

Jaskier keeps his mouth shut, not interested in engaging any further with this man. But he listens, nonetheless. He might be able to find something to help get him out of here.

“Not going to answer hm? Very well. Now, where was I? Ah. Yes. As the creator of anchor bonds, imagine my surprise when I learn that one of the most powerful anchors has suddenly switched, no explanation why, and it goes to none other than some celebrity at a festival who has no connection to the magical world. So, naturally, I just had to see for myself what made this switch occur.”

“Naturally.” Jaskier deadpans.

“Indeed. So, you and I are going to work together to figure out why you seem to be so special to have gotten the Butcher of Blaviken anchored to you.”

Jaskier is furious at the mention of Geralt’s past, knowing full well he isn’t that man and that Stregobor is an absolute tosser.

“Fuck off.”

Stregobor tsks. “Language Julian. We do not swear here. It is rude.”

“Really? Rude? Seems to me a man such as yourself would break into foul language the moment someone stepped on his toe.”

The man is unamused and continues on as if Jaskier never spoke. “Julian, I do believe you met my assistant, Marilka.”

A young girl walks in, no older than nineteen, with dirty blond hair tied into a crown braid. She wears a uniform with an emblem featuring a BS over her left breast. Jaskier inwardly chuckles at it.

“Can’t say we had the pleasure.”

“Nonsense. She was the one who brought you here. You gave her a nasty little bite but nothing that a little herbal chaos cannot fix. She is my brightest student. Now, Marilka, if you please.”

The girl raises a knife, slicing through Jaskier’s arm. The cut isn’t deep, but it certainly stings. Jaskier’s teeth grit, cornflowers slitting. “Was that really necessary?”

“Hm. Red. So not a mutant then.”

“If you were curious, you could have just asked rather than slicing me up.”

“And believe you to tell the truth? You are an actor Julian. You lie for a living. Marilka, please fill these up with our guest’s blood. We will run some tests once it is collected. Julian do be kind. She is a fragile thing.”

One look at the girl tells Jaskier she is anything but. Though, when she glances at him and he bares his teeth, she flinches.

Good. He’s been kidnapped by a mad scientist. He’s allowed to be a little pissed off.

Stregobor only chuckles before he leaves the pair alone. It’s quiet when he does, the girl setting up a syringe, checking the needle’s point before she sticks it in his arm. Jaskier looks her over.

“So, how long have you been under Stregobor’s tutelage?”

“Master Irion said not to talk to you.”

Oh god she calls him master? If Jaskier didn’t know any better he’d say Stregobor was running some secret cult.

Though, after meeting the man, he’s probably not far off.

“Surely, some small talk will be better than working in silence.”

She gives him an unimpressed look before resuming her work.

“Well, then, if you won’t talk I will. Have you heard of my show? Dandelion? It’s all the rage right now. Two seasons in and we’re scheduled for five more. Brilliant hm? Yes, I am quite the talent. Though, I have a co-star, Valdo Marx, utter buffoon the man. Can’t remember any of his lines and holds the whole crew up. Then there’s Priscilla, an absolute darling. She and I attended Oxenfurt together, dazzling the crowds until we got picked up by our agents. There’s Essi, a complete fireball both inside and outside, if you know what I mean.” he says with a wink.

She does not.

“Finally, there’s Cahir who is just…he’s a prick if I’m being honest. Absolute garbage of a human but he is, unfortunately, very good. Such talent wasted on a man. Why I never—”

“Do you ever shut up?”

He grins. “No unless I have a good reason to.”

“What qualifies as a good reason?”

Never let it be said that Jaskier does not know how to get people to talk. Because if they won’t willingly do it…

You annoy the hell out of them till they do. “It depends. For some, a kiss will do. For others, contributing to the conversation.”

“I’m not kissing you.”

Jaskier blanches. “Oh gods no. Absolutely not.”

“So, you want me to make conversation?”

“I offered earlier didn’t I?”

“Master Irion said to not believe anything you say as everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie.”

Well, the man certainly has his students convinced, doesn’t he? Fuck, this will be harder than he thought.

“Well, I am an actor so having others believe I am something I am not is accurate. Of that going into my life outside of work, no. I am only ever honest.”

“How do I know that’s true?”

“Suppose you’ll just have to trust me.”

“Hm.”

She fills up one syringe with his blood, injecting it into some vial before going for a second round.

“Shouldn’t one suffice?”

“We need to be efficient.”

Well, at least she’s talking to him. “What will you use it for?”

“Testing.”

“For what?”

She gives him a look. “I can’t tell you that.”

Fuck, this is going to be like pulling teeth. But, Jaskier doesn’t really have any other options.

He pulls against his restraints, just to test them out but suddenly finds he can’t. Fuck. She is a clever mage.

“You’re not getting out of those.” she says, her fingers in some strange position in the air after using her magic.  

“Of course not. Your magic is impenetrable.”

“It isn’t. I’m a novice. There’s still much more to learn.”

“Why Stregobor then?”

“Master Irion was accepting applicants. I hadn’t been accepted to any of the other schools. He took me in. Said my potential was great and the other academies didn’t know what they were missing.”

Jaskier mulls over that bit. If she wasn’t accepted by other schools she must have been desperate, which means the other students were probably in the same boat when Stregobor took them in. Which means they’re eager to prove their place and will happily kill if it means staying under Stregobor’s instruction. Fuck.

“How many students are there?”

“About fifty.”

“How many came to get me?”

“Ten.”

Geralt shouldn’t have had an issue taking on ten measly mages. Something isn’t right.

“If you’re wondering why the Butcher couldn’t save you don’t bother. We did our homework.”

“He’s not a butcher.”

“Master Irion told us about Blaviken. He’s evil.”

How many lies has this man weaved for his own agenda?

“Geralt is many things, but a butcher isn’t one of them. You do best to remember that. If people die at his hand, it is because they committed a crime so heinous, they themselves are the monster.”

“You put too much faith in him.”

“You have too little.”

Marilka leaves him after that once her vials are filled. Jaskier feels woozy, his vision a little blurred. They must have taken a lot of blood.

His mind drifts to Geralt, wondering what he’s up to. Whether he’s coming for him or not. Jaskier closes his eyes, breaths in deeply to focus on the link between the pair. But he can’t feel him. He can’t sense his white wolf on the other end. His eyes flash open, trying to recall what he knows of soul bonds. Fuck, is this due to the anchor bond? Or…gods, he doesn’t know which one is working and which one isn’t.

Well, while it is worrisome that he can’t feel Geralt, he knows the witcher is going to be coming for him. He won’t rest until the duo are reunited. But, he’s certainly is no damsel in distress (though the charade can be quite fun for foreplay). He can find a way out of this. Meet his white wolf halfway.

Jaskier takes in the room, waiting for whatever may befall him next, to see if maybe there is some way to get out. Right now he’s weak, he can tell, but luckily he’s not passing out.

So, there’s that.

The room really is a doctor’s office, with counters to the side having multiple instruments and bottles. The area is pristine, neatly organized with not a single thing out of place.

Either Marilka has OCD, or Stregobor does. And Jaskier’s betting it’s the latter.

What does catch his eye is the dagger Geralt gifted him, sitting on the counter to his left. Beside it is the ribbon with the wolf pendant. Both lay on a blue cloth under a large magnifying glass. The jewels haven’t been removed from the hilt which means that if what the seller said was true, the charm in them should still work.

Hope flares up in Jaskier’s chest.

Now, if only he could get it.

 

 


 

 

“Stregobor’s alive? How?” Geralt’s eyes are wide. If that madman has Jaskier, his mate is in more danger than any of them could have predicted.

“The man is a slimy fucker. After he got ousted by the council he went AWOL. No one heard from him for centuries, so they assumed he died. We should’ve known better.” Yennefer fumes.

Triss places a hand on her shoulder. “Regardless, at least we know what we’re up against now. He’s obviously interested in the bond. Somehow, he must have learned about the anchors switching.”

Geralt winces, teeth gritting as a pain shoots across his arm. It fades quickly, but his movement to grasp it gets everyone attention. He can feel Jaskier’s heart elevate at it, before going down.

“Fuck.”

“Geralt, what is it?” Yen’s voice is firm.

“The fucker did something to Jaskier. Felt like a knife being sliced across.” He can feel his eye twitch. He wants to move, to get out of the keep and kill everything in his path until Jaskier is back in his arms and safe.

“I believe that because the bond is now confirmed, it is beginning to increase it’s magic on the two of you. Your lives are linked, which means that while one lives, the other cannot die.” Vesemir says, stroking his beard.

The whole group goes quiet.

“Wait, so Dad and Jaskier are like, immortal now?” Ciri perks up, her eyes owlish.

“It would seem so. And if one is in pain, the other will feel it though they themselves will not receive the injury. Just as you are experiencing now.”

“That doesn’t explain why his mutagens didn’t work when Jaskier was taken.”

Vesemir frowns. “Something must have blocked them. Triss?”

“On it.” The redhead waves her hands over Geralt, blue eyes bright as she scans him. Her face grows grim when she finishes. “You’ve been poisoned. But it’s not intended to kill you. You must have ingested something that’s meant to stop the mutagens. It’s not permanent though. Whoever made it didn’t give you a very strong dose. Definitely a Stregobor recipe. But he most likely had a servant make it and administer it.”

“Lazy ass.” mutters Yennefer. Triss shoots her a small grin.

“Any idea of when it’ll wear off?” Geralt lets out in a long breath.

“I’d say about two to three hours, give or take. Though, your mutagens are probably focused on healing you which may also be why they’re delayed in reacting to your bond.”

“How are you feeling pup?”

“Angry. I…I’m still here. But I can feel the desire to find him intensifying.”

“So, it is definitely fading then. How intense?”  

“I’ll kill anything in my way.”

The room goes quiet a second time before Yennefer speaks. “Then we’ll find him before we get to that point. Keep us updated on how you feel and on Jaskier. You’re our only link to him right now.”

Geralt nods.

“Okay. Stregobor wants Jaskier probably because he wants to know about the anchor switching. But there’s got to be more to it than that. Stregobor doesn’t do examinations. He does experiments.”

“The control units.” Triss says as her eyes go wide.

Fuck. I think you’re right.” mutters Yen. “He probably thinks Jaskier has some gene that he can manifest to his advantage. And if he succeeds…”

“He’ll get the most powerful witcher under his control.”

“Jaskier won’t let him.” Ciri insists.

“No pup, I imagine he won’t. Not without a fight.” Vesemir pats Ciri’s head. “If Geralt’s still alive, I can only assume Stregobor has not figured out they are soulmates.”

“How could he not know? Their marks have changed. And that asshole knows more about soul magic than anyone.”

“Jaskier’s glamour. It hides his mark.” Geralt runs a hand through his hair.

“Yes. And it can only be seen by those who have been allowed to see him without it. So, if his glamour is in place, neither Stregobor nor any of his mages will know that Jaskier is not entirely human.”

“Unless he takes his blood or messes with his mind.”

Vesemir sighs. “We do not know if the glamour extends to that. We can only hope it does. But we do know Jaskier. He will not go down easy. You picked a good mate pup.”

Geralt sends a small smile to Vesemir but it lacks heart. He is too stressed, the scent of sandalwood and mint no longer in his vicinity, so there is nothing resembling his partner by his side.

Only the steady thump of a heart too far away.

“Triss. Get our scrying equipment. Vesemir, can you call Lambert and Eskel? We’re going to need all hands-on deck to find our actor. Geralt, get changed and take a walk. You're no help to us right now. Ciri, go with him.”

“You got it.” Triss portals out of the room. Vesemir picks up his cell, calling the other witchers. Geralt meanwhile gets up, Ciri taking his arm, and leaves. She takes him to his room, where he takes off the date outfit and replaces it. He leaves, Ciri taking his arm again and maneuvers them to the gardens to sit amongst the buttercups.

“Mom’s going to find him.”

“Hm.”

“She will.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just listens to the heartbeat.

“Dad, why don’t you tell me about the date?”

“Ciri…”

“You need to think of something happy till Mom finds him. So, tell me about the date.”

Geralt sighs. “We went to the town. Visited Triss, then went to Rosemary and Thyme for lunch.” Which is probably where he got fucked over now that he thinks about it. His mutagens aren’t working fast enough.

“I love that place. Their French onion soup is so good.”

“We went to the market after, he bought some necklace.”

“Oh! From Lacey?”

“Who’s Lacey?”

“She’s the lady that sells these really cool pendants.”

“Yeah. That’s the one.”

“Jaskier would find that stall.”

Geralt smiles fondly. “He would.”

“What’d you do next?”

“I bought Jaskier a dagger.”

Ciri scrunches her nose. “Um, hate to break it to you, but buying your date weapons isn’t exactly romantic.”

“He liked it.”

Ciri pretends to barf. “Oh god. You two are made for each other. What’d you do next?”

Geralt chuckles at his daughter’s antics. “We went to the greenhouse.”

“Oh Dad! That’s like a crazy romantic spot. You know what people do there right?”

“Admire the flowers?”

“Ugh. No! They propose! Or do some sort of big romantic gesture. Did you do some big romantic gesture?”

“Does kissing count?”

Ciri’s jaw drops. “No. You didn’t.”

Geralt shrugs. “Dad. Stop. You didn’t.”

She squeals in delight as she wraps her arms around him. “Oh my god. You did. You actually made a move on Jaskier.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“You totally are. Was it good? Wait. Don’t answer that.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

The pair sit in silence, Geralt feeling a bit lighter thanks to his daughter. Jaskier’s heartbeat is still going strong, so the witcher feels relief there too.

Until his skin feels a prick.

“Dad?”

“They’re doing something to Jaskier.”

The urge to find the man escalates. He can feel the twitch in his eye, the burn in his veins. Jaskier’s heart doesn’t indicate any fear or worry though. So, he’s still okay.

But Geralt isn’t. He can feel his mutagens stirring, awakening from a deep slumber.

“Dad. I’m calling Mom.”

“Good idea.” He grits out. He places his hand on his mark, eyes closing as he attempts to regain control. He can’t lose focus. Not until Jaskier is by his side again.

Ciri quickly tells Yennefer what’s going on. The older woman says something, and next thing Triss is portaling through. “Come on.”

Ciri grabs Geralt’s hand and leads him through back to the library. Yennefer has spread her scrying equipment across the table, the crystal twirling over a map of Cintra.

“Eskel, Lambert, and Vesemir, you’ve been all over. What are the most private and luxurious places you know of?” Triss goes beside Yen, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Eskel frowns. “Hard to say. With the twenty first century, things are constantly changing. But, if I were to hazard a guess, somewhere in either Strept or Erlenwald. Lambert?”

“Erlenwald would be good for privacy, but it’s pretty much a forestry industry now. So, nothing to pretty there. I’d put my money on Strept.”

The crystal falls. “Well, you’re saying Strept and so is this map. What’s there?”

Lambert pulls out his phone, googling the city. “Says here there’s a rich neighborhood, an academy, a library and some fancy complex for high rated stores. Apparently it houses some of the wealthiest people on the continent.”

“What’s the academy called?”

“The Black Sun Academy. The Headmaster is a Master Irion.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes. “He’s not subtle that’s for sure. But that’s Stregobor alright. How many students attend?”

“Fifty.”

“Geralt, how many attacked?”

“About ten.”

“So, that means forty little mages. It’ll be like swatting flies. Triss, what do we have component wise?”

“I can make some bombs if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Nothing too extreme.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Whatever you think is best.”

“Gotcha.”

“Geralt. How are you doing?”

He looks up, hand on his mark. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “I’m…okay.”

“You look faint.”

Geralt pauses. “Fuck. That’s Jaskier. That’s…he’s lightheaded.” He can feel himself begin to tense. He’s going to break soon. He knows it. “We don’t have much longer.”

“Okay. Stregobor’s cocky, so he probably won’t have any sort of magical barrier up around the academy. The mages will probably be on high alert though knowing that we’re coming. Stregobor may be egotistical but he’s not stupid. He’ll know that taking Geralt’s anchor will have us looking for him and he’ll know it won’t take us long. He’ll be waiting for us when we come.”

“So, what do we do?” asks Eskel.

“You are going to stay here with Ciri.”

“Mom!”

“You are not coming. Not in the slightest. We need you here in case something goes wrong, and we have to portal back.”

Ciri huffs, crossing her arms. “Fine.”

“Lambert, you’ll come with us. Actually, I think I might portal you in first to scout the area. When you’re done, call. We’ll portal in ready to go. We storm the school and bring Jaskier home. Any questions?”

Geralt pinches his nose, his face scrunched.

“Is something wrong? Is it Jaskier?”

“No. He’s fine.”

The man’s heart remains steady. Thank fuck.

“You’re getting close.”

“All I know is that when I’m there, I’m not holding back.”

Yen’s smirk is downright malicious. “Good. Wouldn’t want you to. Anyone else?”

Heads shake around the room. “Okay. Let’s get to work. Lambert, you need anything before we send you in?”

“Nope. Carry everything I need with me.” He holds up his equipment attached to a small knapsack.

Yennefer nods, opening a portal. “Use the encrypted app to contact us.”

“Don’t I always? See you fuckers soon.”

The man disappears. Geralt watches Yennefer turn to Triss who’s just smiling. “You know, you’re really hot when you go all commander.”

Yennefer’s lips twitch and while Geralt is happy that she’s got someone, his someone is still missing. He lets out a growl.

The women look over to him. Triss smiles sheepishly. “Right. I’m heading to my lab. Vesemir, care to join me? Two will be faster than one.”

The elder nods, pressing his hand onto Geralt’s shoulder. “We’ll bring him home son.”

Geralt really fucking hopes so.

 

 


 

 

Jaskier doesn’t know how long he’s been in the chair. Or how much blood has been taken. He feels drained, exhausted, and starved.

Marilka returns, carrying a tray with various foods and a bottle of water. They’re all sugary dishes. Fuck, they’re going to drain him some more.

“My blood not sufficing?”

“We’re double checking.”

“Can’t see how it can be false the first time.”

“Not you. The machines.”

“Magic can’t read blood?”

She gives him a look. “It speeds up the process but no, it can’t read your blood. Here. Eat.”

While Jaskier would love to refuse the request, he is hungry. He sniffs the food first to see if any of it smells off, but it doesn’t so he takes a bite.

Seems to taste fine too.

He finishes it in mere minutes.

Marilka takes the tray, placing it to the side. She goes to the corner and pulls a machine to the side, with wires hanging down.

Great. More suction cups.

“Well, what does this little thing do?”

Marilka doesn’t answer, only placing the connectors on his temples. “Let me guess, it reads minds.”

“No. It does not. Only makes them more amenable.”

Stregobor enters the room, wearing a different outfit than before. Has he been here a day already? Fuck.

“How nice. And merely asking me is out of the question?”

“We cannot trust what you say Julian. You are a liar by trade.”

Paranoid bugger isn’t he?

“A shame really. I find that there’s no need for fancy machines. I mean really, who is there to impress? Me? Certainly no. I have utterly no interest in the sciences, so this thing is no more than nut and bolts to me. And Marilka? The darling here is far too intelligent to be enthralled by such a simple thing. It can’t read minds. Making someone more agreeable? You should either have something that completely controls or nothing at all. No need to half-ass it.”

Jaskier inwardly grins as he sees the vein in Stregobor’s head throb. The man makes his way to his head, leaning over. “You do best to keep your mouth shut Julian. You would not want to lose that clever tongue of yours.”

Blue eyes stray to Marilka, who sits and watches the whole interaction. Jaskier doesn’t doubt she is smart, so surely she sees what an absolute lunatic this man is. But she doesn’t react, only sitting and watching.

Well, she’s not going to be much help.

“Do your worst.” Stregobor’s grin goes malevolent as he places his hands over top of the wires attached to Jaskier. The actor braces himself for a searing pain, an unimaginable agony, his life flashing before his eyes.

Instead, his mind drifts. It goes to a place in the clouds, where everything is quiet. He wanders, wondering where the fuck he and why he isn’t in immense pain until he sees a woman, sitting in a chair with an empty one beside her.

“Mother?”

The woman turns her head, sharp teeth glittering and obsidian eyes wide. She’s always looked more ethereal than a human but this time her fae features make her look downright savage.

“Julian.”

Jaskier pauses. While his mother always called him that, so does Stregobor. How does he know if this is truly his mother not the madman playing tricks?

“Sit my dove.”

He sits, recognizing the nickname but still suspicious.

“Who are you?”

“A figment.”

Well. If it were Stregobor the image before him wouldn’t be saying that would she? She’d be trying to convince Jaskier she’s his mother.

“What’s going on?”

“Someone is trying to read your mind.”

Definitely not Stregobor. But not his mother either. He wonders if this image is part of the spell his actual mother gave him long ago. The Summer Court may be known for its frivolities, but they were always a suspicious lot when sober.

“Yes. I’ve been captured and dragged to some lab. The man who took me, he wants to find out why I’m connected to Geralt. He wants to know about the bond. I do not want him to know we’re soulmates.”

“Have you told him he could probe your mind?”

“Absolutely not.”

His mother nods. “Then he won’t.”

Jaskier frowns. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

Obsidian eyes go to his, his mother’s fae features terrifying beautiful as she smiles. “Your magic is stronger than you think my dove. No one will break you unless you allow them to.”

She snaps her fingers, and Jaskier is thrown from the clouds crashing back to the lab. He hears Marilka gasps as Stregobor hisses.

“Something is blocking me. Marilka come here, let me use your chaos.”

The girl seems to not like that idea but goes anyway, placing her hand on her teacher’s shoulder. Stregobor tries again but gets the same reaction.

His fingers are singed.

Jaskier grins ferally. Thank fuck for his mother’s court’s magic. “Well, looks like you’ve got a bit of a charred appearance. I must say, blackened fingers do wonders for your figure.”

Stregobor slaps him. The cheek stings from the hit, Jaskier gritting and pulling against his restraints.

“You may have mental barriers in place Julian, but rest assured I will break them.”

“I’d like to see you try.” he snipes back. Stregobor snarls, leaving the room in a flurry with the door slamming behind him.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Well, when Geralt comes he’ll be wishing he never touched me in the first place.”

“What is between you and the butcher? I’ve seen the pendant.”

Jaskier shrugs. “I’m just his anchor.”

Marilka looks at him. “Maybe for him. But you’re in love with him.”

No point in denying it. “Well. Yes. Have you seen the man?”

“No.”

“A shame. He’s quite the specimen.”

“I can’t imagine witchers being attractive. Master Irion says they’re as ugly as the monsters they kill.”

What a wanker. When Jaskier gets out of here, and he will, he’s going to give the slimeball a piece of his mind. Preferably with his fist. “They are anything but. I would even argue they are more handsome than humans.”

Marilka seems curious by this. “How so?”

“Well, they train every day, so their muscles are bulging. They have these beautiful, gold eyes. Their hair is silky smooth. And when they fight, it’s like watching a dance. The movements are precise, swift, and efficient. It’s truly a sight to behold.”

“They sound dangerous.”

“My darling Marilka, anything can be dangerous if given a reason to be.”

The stare at one another, Jaskier hoping she understands what he’s implying. With him not by Geralt’s side, everyone in this place is at risk, and as the one who took him away from his mate, she is the most.

“We’ve been trained to fight mutants.”

“You’re babies. You’ve barely lived. The witchers, they’ve lived for centuries. They are wiser, faster, and more capable of killing you with their bare hands than you are of laying a finger on them. Think of yourself as strong as you like. The longer I’m here, the more likely your death will be.”

“I thought you said they weren’t killers.”

“You kidnapped me willingly. You really think they’ll see you as innocent?”

She seems to take this in as she prepares for another round of taking blood. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t need to work for him.”

“Master Irion gave me an opportunity when no one else did. He saw how gifted I was. I won’t turn my back on him. None of us will.”

Jaskier’s eyes downcast to his restraints. It’s going to be a slaughterhouse when Geralt arrives with the calvary. Marilka doesn’t seem like a bad person, just someone who is lost, and a horrible man taking advantage.

But she’s kidnapped him with full knowledge of her actions and is working with a man whose agenda is blatantly evil whatever it may be.

Her life will be lost, but Jaskier won’t mourn it.

She takes more blood than last time, leaving the actor very faint. He can feel his vision beginning to darken as she stares at him. “Get some rest Julian.” she whispers as his eyes fall shut.

 

 


 

 

It takes Lambert an hour and a half to check out the academy. 

“Honestly, the thing is just a big mansion. It’s got two floors, but I’m betting there’s a basement. Pretty fucking lavish gardens that the students can go through to get to the main building. There’s a residency in the back, but from the looks of it it’s just used for sleep. There’s a forest that circles the entire place, hiding it from the main roads.”

Lambert’s voice crackles through the phone. Yennefer, Geralt, Eskel and Ciri are gathered around it, taking in everything the younger witcher is sharing.

“What do the students’ routine look like?” Yennefer’s hands are on her head.

“They pretty much stay in the main building. There’s about twenty of them on the bottom floor. The second has ten. There’s at least five in the basement. The last group are movers. They go in between levels.”

“Any ideas where Jaskier is?”

“I’m getting no reading of extra bodies anywhere. I checked the residence and nothing there either. My guess, is he’s in the basement and there’s some sort of built in blocker preventing me from seeing him.”

“Anything else? And weapons? Traps?”

“Like you said, this fucker’s got nothing extra set up for us. But the students aren’t moving from their positions, so they’re definitely expecting an attack.”

“There goes the element of surprise.”

“Fuck surprises. We go now.” Geralt growls out. He’s done waiting. They know where Jaskier is, they can get him and bring him home.

“Geralt, we can’t just go rushing in. We need a plan.” Yennefer places a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him. But he gets up, pacing frantically, hand rubbing the mark on his chest. He can feel his eyes twitching, can feel the mutagens beginning to take control.

And then he feels pain on his cheek, He clutches it, the sensation stinging and he realizes Stregobor has slapped Jaskier. He can feel the heartbeat speed up.

His mutagens immediately kick into overdrive.

“We don’t have time.

He turns to face the group, his eyes turning black. He’s going to kill the fucker for hurting his mate. The man who took his anchor will not live to see another day. His breathing becomes heavy, vengeance smoldering inside of him ready to lash out and hurt.

He needs to go.

“Fuck. Okay. Lambert, it looks like we’re coming now.”

“Bout fuckin’ time.”

The line goes dead. “Eskel, Ciri, get to the infirmary. We’ll portal in there once this is done. I’m calling Triss to let her know we’re going.”

Geralt doesn’t speak, only nods, and focuses on his mate’s heartbeat. It’s slowed a tad, but he can feel anger behind it. Jaskier is furious.

Which only makes the witcher become more feral as each minute passes where the actor is not in his arms safe.

“Geralt, how are you feeling?”

He grunts.

“Fuck.”

The witcher vaguely hears the crackle of a portal appearing before someone is grabbing his arm and dragging him through. He stumbles out, eyes darting around taking in the surroundings. He takes a deep inhale to see what all waits him inside.

Hormones. Sweat. Acne cleansers. But the most overpowering of all the smells is the scent of sandalwood and mint. His veins around his eyes grow, his skin drops its colour.

Jaskier is here. He’s inside. He’s close.

He’s about to bound inside but freezes, looking at the group that have joined him.

Yennefer stands there, chaos dancing in-between her fingers. Triss has her component bag slung around her shoulder, her bombs in either hand. Vesemir has his swords strapped to his back, daggers on his legs. Lambert joins them by falling out of a tree to the ground. His own gear is saddled up, sword in one hand and brass knuckles in the other.

Yen looks to him. “Go. We’ll take care of the flies.”

He nods running forward, the whole group charging behind him. He slams the manor doors open.

And all hell breaks loose.

 


Outfit Inspiration: 

 

Triss: 

 

 

Yennefer: 

 

 

Ciri: 

 

 

Vesemir: 

 

 

Stregobor: 

 

Marilka: 

Eskel: 

Lambert: 

 

Geralt: 

Notes:

Lambert wears onesies to sleep. Change my mind.

We're in the home stretch now folks! Two more chapters to go.

Song recs are Remember Me by Dove Cameron feat. BIA and Foreboding by EDDIE.

See you beauties on August 24 or earlier.

Chapter 6: I Call Your Bullshit

Notes:

WELCOME TO THE SMACKDOWN FOLKS.

Not gonna lie, this chapter was hard to write and much shorter than I would like. But, I'm not going to force flow if the story doesn't want to go the way I originally planned so...

Here we are. I hope you feel entertained.

Outfit Inspiration is pretty limited considering most of them are in their pjs. But I firmly stand behind Lambert's because in my mind, that's the EXACT onesie he wears as he's fighting. And Yennefer changes, because obviously she would not be caught DEAD in her sleepwear in public.

Warning for violence. There are character deaths. It's somewhat graphic so take caution if you're not into that sort of thing.

As usual I own nothing. And canon? Never heard of her.

Enjoy lovelies!

P.S. I changed the age of Marilka from 13 to 19. The way this chapter goes, was not on board with her being that young. So, it's been edited.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Batshit

Chapter 6: I Call Your Bullshit

“Your soul will find me.. and when it does,
I will make love to it in a way
that no one will understand.”

― Carlos Medina

 

 

Pandemonium.

All Geralt knows as he slams into the foyer of the manor is pandemonium. The doors fly into the room, crashing into some columns, students spread out with their magic sparking in their hands. He can hear his team run in behind him, shouts being exclaimed on both sides.

Geralt breathes in, narrowing down on Jaskier’s scent. It comes from a staircase to the far right of the room, against the wall of the manor. Seven students stand in-between.

He begins swinging.

The mages are young but that doesn’t matter. While Geralt doesn’t kill sentient beings, the emblems shining on their blazers, the bloodlust in their eyes, show him they know exactly what they’re doing.

That, and they’re standing in the way between him and his mate.

So, they aren’t going to come out of here alive.

Despite their youth, they’re prepared. One student creates duplicates of himself, all six charging towards Geralt. He swings his sword out, the blade slicing clean through the replicas. They shatter, their shards ebbing into anything the touch. He’s not deterred though, the smell of sandalwood and mint getting stronger the further in he goes.

Another student launches a stream of fire towards him, but he deflects it with Quen, the flames lashing back towards their caster. They scream, loud and jarring as the fire licks up their arms but Geralt keeps moving.

He needs to find Jaskier.

The man’s heartbeat is weaker than before, which only spurs Geralt further. He growls when another little mage pops up, ice shards blasting forth from their hands. He whips his sword in front, the frost breaking on impact. The pieces fly outwards, a shower of snow until someone else freezes them in their trajectory and flips their direction back towards the witcher. A quick glance in his sword reflects that student behind him, hands raised controlling the now flying icicles. He grabs a dagger from his boot and flings it outwards, the blade hitting its mark dead on. The figure drops to the ground as the witcher ducks and rolls to the side just as the ice burrows into the carpet, missing his large frame.

More screams.

Geralt keeps moving.

He’s about to lunge for another mage in his fucking way when a bomb whizzes by his head. “COVER YOUR EYES!”

The moment he does, a bright flash shoots out from the explosive. People shout, footsteps run amuck, individuals slam into walls.

It’s chaos.

But Jaskier’s heartbeat still goes, and so does Geralt.

He uses his ear to listen to where to move, his nose to follow the scent of his mate. His fingers occasionally reach out in front of him to make sure he doesn’t trip over falling bodies or bump into anything.

There’s a slight ringing in his ears when another bomb going off, the chaos ripe in the air, overwhelming anyone who hasn’t had enough exposure to it.

More bodies fall. How many fucking people are in this building?

Geralt finally makes it to the staircase, his breathing heavy as the scent of Jaskier thickens. He casts a glance to see where the others are, a quick check to make sure everyone’s alive and kicking.

Yennefer’s blasting mages left and right as they come for her. Triss has forgone her bag in favour of chaos and swirls her own magic into tiny twisters that flare out loose items into razor-sharp projectiles.

Vesemir is clashing with some mage who somehow got a blade into their hands. The elder has them on their knees.

Lambert’s grinning like a madman as he stabs a suit of armor (when the fuck did inanimate objects start to move?) wielding a sword with terrible accuracy.

The team is fine.

Geralt keeps moving. 

Like a hunter, he goes up the stairs, knocking down everything in his way. Piles of chairs have been stacked at the top to make a barricade, but they don’t even phase the witcher. He flicks his wrist, Igni shooting forth and the blockade scorches, its flares spreading on the walls and charring them to a crisp.

He pauses, waiting for the fire to clear the path before he bursts through it. The sounds from the fight below fade away and he comes to an empty hallway.

It’s quiet. Almost as if what’s going on a floor beneath isn’t happening. Geralt slowly moves further in, hyper aware of anything that may move.

Portraits of Stregobor hang on the walls, each one showcasing him in a different time period. He’s probably convinced the students he’s some kind of god the fucker. Geralt’s teeth grit, so he takes a moment to listen to Jaskier’s heartbeat to keep him calm.

It’s picked up. It’s elevated.

It does not keep Geralt calm.

Jaskier must know what’s going on. Or, Stregobor has him and his planning to use him.

That thought causes him to escalate his desperation on getting his anchor out of here.

Geralt runs.

 

 


 

 

Jaskier is shaken awake. He’s still incredibly groggy, blinking slowly as he hears loud, uproarious, and agonizing sounds. He strains his ears and if he didn’t know better, he’d say people are fighting.

Geralt.

His eyes go wide. That has to be Geralt. Fuck. Stregobor has to have known he was coming. Jaskier needs to get the fuck out of here as of yesterday. He grunts, pulling at his shackles but they don’t bloody move.

He’s starts to pull against the restraints violently. “Stop doing that.”

He freezes, watching Marilka as she undoes his cuffs. He rubs his wrists, but she slaps another set on him.

“Your friends are here.”

Damn straight they are. He can hear Triss yell something above him.

“Well. What’s your plan then?” he sputters out. Shit. He feels tired. His blood isn’t regenerating quick enough. But he’s mindful and aware.

So he sure as hell isn’t going down yet.

“Master Irion wants you escorted to his chambers.” She pulls him off the chair, his weight falling on her frame. His legs wobble seeing as he’s been sitting for forever.

But this is his chance.

“I am truly sorry Marilka.”

Jaskier slams his head into hers, slightly dizzy from the blow and watches her crumble to the floor. She doesn’t move, so he lunges past her, grabbing the dagger and wolf pendant. He slides the necklace into his pants, steps over the mage testing the weight of the blade. It’s heavy and he’s essentially got one arm.

“Wonderful.” he mutters. After this shitshow is done, he most certainly, will not complain to Geralt about training him on self-defence.

Besides, it’s really just foreplay right?

Before he can get out the door, a hand grabs his leg and pulls. He hits the ground, gnashing his teeth on impact. Cornflower eyes look into deep browns. “You don’t want to do this Marilka.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

He saddens at her. “Everyone has a choice.” And then smashes his foot into her face. He scrambles to his feet and dashes out of the room, not looking back.

He doesn’t have time to.

His eyesight is shit with the bright fluorescents and the hall being painstakingly white. So Jaskier closes them, putting all his efforts into listening. His ears flicker, filtering the sounds till it lands on the one he wants.

Geralt’s heartbeat.

The connection flares to life, snapping back into place and Jaskier books it down the hall, following the sound through the maze that is wherever the blazing hell he’s been stashed.

“JULIAN.” A voice reverberates down the hall. He halts, slowly turning and seeing Marilka up on her feet, chaos slithering through her fingers. She looks pissed.

“Fuck.”

He runs faster.

She gives chase.

Jaskier has no idea where he’s going, the girl behind him tossing balls of chaos that explode into the walls on impact, and he, quite frankly, is really beginning to realize just how correct Shani is in her description of him as a danger magnet because those attacks are a little too close. He ducks, weaves, and dodges them, tiring himself out quicker than he would like.

He stumbles on his feet, looking down to catch himself and sees the dagger in his hand. Right. He’s got a weapon.

Jaskier may be a lover, but even he has his limits. Rather than running, he whirls around to face Marilka who quickly hides her surprise. She leaps for him, arms outstretched, and he throws his whole body into stabbing her in the gut.

It doesn’t miss.

She chokes, knees hitting the floor as Jaskier’s eyes depress. “You chose this. I am sorry Marilka.”

He struggles to lower her down the ground with his hands still stuck together and watches blood bubble from her mouth, the life drain from her eyes. Once she’s dead, he shuts them before getting up, pulling the dagger out.  

He doesn’t have time to dwell on the fact that he just killed someone. He needs to keep moving.

He needs to find Geralt.

 

 


 

 

The hall seems to go on forever. No matter how close Geralt thinks he is getting to the end, it keeps going, with more miles left to cover.

But finally, the hall stops at a large, ornate door with two brass handles.

He can’t smell Jaskier in there, but he can smell thirty-year-old scotch and cigar smoke. He kicks the doors open and snarls.

“Stregobor.”

A slow clap sounds in the room which displays a giant portrait of Stregobor from the 1200s as the first thing one sees when they enter. The walls around are filled with books, the furniture antique and at the end across from him, sitting at a large desk, is the bastard himself.

“Welcome to my academy butcher. Please, have a seat.”

Geralt growls and takes a menacing step forward.

“I must say, your appearance has much left to be desired.”

“Where is he?”

Stregobor pours himself some tea, looking completely at ease despite Geralt being at his wit’s end. He should kill him.

Right here, right now.

But the asshole knows where Jaskier is.

“Now butcher, there is no need for such hostility. Your anchor has been quite useful. I must admit, I had been curious as to why Yennefer was no longer your anchor and why the chaos of that bond would connect you to none other than some exiled aristocrat.”

Geralt’s growl deepens. He goes to pounce, but slams into a wall. Fucking Stregobor and his fucking magic. The witcher just wants, needs, to slit his throat.

A mage steps out from around the corner, eyes glued to Geralt’s movements.

“I was afraid you would be unagreeable, so I have one of my students helping me. It is fascinating, your new anchor, because Julian is not magical or particularly strong when you look at him. But, upon doing a blood analysis, I was quite surprised to discover white tendrils around his heart, flowing through his veins. Do you know what those white tendrils are?”

Geralt doesn’t answer, instead trying to see if there’s a way to break the magic so he can kill this fucker.

 “I do prefer your silence. Much easier on the ears than Julian’s incessant chattering. Well, the white tendrils, butcher, is soulmate magic. I have studied this chaos extensively, but never did I think I would encounter it tied to a witcher, especially the Butcher of Blaviken! No wonder your anchor changed! You found a soulmate. Now, with Julian by my side, we shall work together to make you more amenable.”

“I’m not being a fucking zombie for you.” he snarls out.

“Well, I can see how compatible you and Julian are. The boy reacted the same way.”

Pride swells in Geralt knowing that his mate fought back. He’s feisty and when this is all over and Jaskier is safe, Geralt will show just how appreciative he is of that quality.

His eyes stray to the mage in the corner, tightening and watching them quiver under his gaze. They glance to Stregobor, whose ignoring the both of them in favour of whatever is on his desk, which looks like papers filled with charts and graphs. Geralt’s cogs begin to turn.

Why is Stregobor, an expelled member of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, relying on a little mage for protection?

His eyes grow wide.

“You don’t have your magic.”

The sorcerer huffs. “No butcher, my chaos is still in me. But after a little encounter with your anchor, it seems to have been temporarily disabled. Rest assured, I will get it back.”

Stregobor holds his fingers up revealing blackened tips. They appear burned to a crisp. “Good, makes it easier to do this then.”

He snatches the hidden dagger in his shirt and propels it at the mage. The blade sinks into the forehead, the student landing on the ground with a thud. Stregobor’s eyes widen, the smell of sour milk curdling in the air. Geralt’s grin goes feral. He can feel his mutagens buzzing in him.

He moves forward, ready to grab the man and make him tell him where the fuck Jaskier is, but the doors behind him burst open.

“MASTER IRION?”

A growl erupts, Geralt moving swiftly to the new adversary whose interrupted him from finding his mate. He backhands his fist into their jaw, the sound of the bone breaking on impact, satisfying the beast within.

But when he turns around, Stregobor, like a fucking cockroach, is gone.

“For fucks sake.”

 

 


 

 

Jaskier hears commotion as he climbs a spiralling staircase. He has to be nearing the main floors by now. The basement, which must’ve been where he was being kept, was clearly very underground if the length of this staircase is anything to go by. He takes a moment to lean against the wall, catching his breath because he is exhausted.

But he doesn’t stay long. He has to find Geralt.

The witcher’s heartbeat is strong in his ears, but it’s higher than it should be. He’s lashing out. Jaskier can feel it.

He needs to reach him. Needs to anchor him.

Jaskier grunts, heaving himself back to his feet. Once stable, he moves. The stairs are agonizingly long but soon enough he finds himself at the top of them only to come face to face with a stupidly big door. He wrestles with the handle swearing, “fucking cuffs,” under his breath. The dagger drops to the floor in favour of getting the fuck out.

Finally, the doorknob turns. Jaskier grabs the blade, and leaps out of the basement, finding himself in some sort of hallway. He huffs as he jogs through the manor, flickering his ears to make sure nothing is approaching him.

Until he gets a little visit from two students.

They all freeze, Jaskier staring into their eyes and them back at him. No one seems to know what to do, until the two mages take out their own blades.

And Jaskier, he’s never been one for fighting, but as he feels Geralt’s heartbeat still going to fast, he has never, ever, been more enthusiastic, about starting a fight.

He dashes to them, swinging his arms like a club and bashes the head of one of the mages. She crumples under the hit, but not before Jaskier feels a stab in his shoulder. He groans, whipping around and kicking the other mage right in his tenders.

The student clutches his balls, dropping to his knees in utter agony. His blade lays off to the side, but Jaskier has no time to dwell on the fact that he just kicked butt.

He’s got a witcher to find.

He moves as quickly as he can, a little more sluggish now with the wound in his shoulder blade. Gods, he’s lost so much blood already he is truly hoping he doesn’t pass out.

Can being a half-elf giving him healing properties like full ones? He’ll have to ask Triss when he gets out of this.

Focus.

He maneuvers through some more hallways until he stumbles across one that is filled to the brim with portraits of Stregobor from different ages.

Glorified bastard.

Jaskier can hear the fight below him now, swords clashing, people yelling, and chaos exploding. Smoke billows at the end of the hall, from a receding fire. No one seems to be coming up the stairs by the large piles of ash, so the actor takes his time down the hallway, listening for anything that might pop out just in case.

And if he scrapes each portrait as he moves with his dagger, well, that’s because the wanker had it coming.

He gets to the end, noting that this staircase is much shorter than the last thank god, and now he can see his friends battling the students. Yennefer is decimating her opponent (and looking fabulous while doing it), Triss right by her side. Vesemir is pulling his blade out of some knight in armour and is Lambert wearing a fucking onesie with cats?

Not the time to dwell on that, though he will revisit it later. He dashes down the staircase. “Yennefer! Vesemir! SOMEBODY.”

All action freezes, everyone staring at the actor in handcuffs with a bloody dagger. He coughs. Melilite’s tits, there’s a lot of smoke in this room. “Not need to all stare. I have no interest in you. Do carry on.”

He darts to Vesemir, who thankfully isn’t killing anything at the moment after having finished with the armour. The fighting resumes, Triss leaving Yennefer’s side to get to Jaskier and Vesemir.

“Jaskier, you’re okay!”

“Yes. I’m, well, I am very tired but alive. Where’s Geralt?”

“He went to find you. Did you not see him?”

“No. Fuck. I can hear him, he’s—”

“We know. He was teetering on being feral when he went to look for you. But Jas we need to get you out of here.” Triss begins to make a portal.

“Triss. I can’t. I have to find Geralt.”

“It’s better for you to be safe son.” Vesemir states as he kicks down another suit of armour.  

“No. I’m his anchor. He needs me.”

“Jaskier, you’re about to keel over.”

The actor shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. Just, keep stalling till I find him.”

Triss swears under her breath as he feels chaos fall over him. He’s more awake now. “Thank you.”

“It’s temporary. It won’t last long. Kick that bond of yours into overdrive and find him so we can get out of here.”

Jaskier nods. “Vesemir, can you get these?” He raises his cuffed hands.

The elder grips his wrists and snaps the chain in half. “Gods you lot are beautifully strong. Alright, I’m off.”

He weaves through the disaster of the entrance to the manor, following the sound of his mate’s heartbeat. It leads him back up the staircase, into the hall with Stregobor’s portraits.

Geralt is near. But Jaskier doesn’t have time to search each door, hoping his white wolf will be on the other side. So, he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to focus on the bond. He imagines Geralt, his golden eyes and white hair, standing before him in all his majestic glory, a small smile on his lips. He stretches out a hand and Jaskier reaches forward and links his own.

The imagined Geralt swirls into a vortex, revealing the true Geralt standing in a garden.

It’s not the greenhouse or the one at the keep. This one is by a fountain, with massive hedges scaling high. As if he senses him, the witcher’s white hair spins around, searching frantically. Jaskier hears him shout his name.

“JASKIER.”

“Geralt.” He whispers into their bond. The man pauses, hand going to his chest, right where his soul mark is. Jaskier presses his own.

“Jaskier.” God, his voice sounds wonderful.

“I’m in the hall,” he speaks into their connection, “with all of these stupid portraits. Honestly, could this man be anymore vain? It’s like he doesn’t—”

A hand wraps around his mouth as a blade is poked into his back.

“Walk.”  

The connection drops.

Fuck.

 

 


 

 

Despite Stregobor having vanished from the room, he left in such a hurry that the secret passage he took to escape is still open. The bookcase has been swung to the side, a cold draft seeping out into the rest of the room.

Geralt goes inside.

The hall is narrow and dark, but the smell of freshly cut grass and evergreen trees meanders about, informing Geralt that this path leads outside.

When he exits, he’s in the gardens. His eyes dart about, checking for any sign of the danger to his mate but sees none. So he walks forward.

He strains his ears to hear Jaskier’s heartbeat, noticing that it comes from in the mansion. He’s about to backtrack when it feels it.

Feels him. In their bond.

He whips around, trying to spot the man. “JASKIER?”

His mark vibrates and it’s accompanied by his mate’s voice. “Geralt.” He sounds relieved. Geralt closes his eyes, instinct telling him to focus on his mark, on his connection to Jaskier.

He sees him in his mind’s eye. He’s standing in the hall with all the portraits. Fuck. If Geralt had left the office through the main door rather than the passage, he’d be right there, right now.

But he didn’t, so he focuses on watching Jaskier through their bond.

Jaskier’s in one piece, but not looking ideal by any means. He’s unnaturally pale, dark circles under his eyes. But he’s standing, he’s breathing.

Thank god.

Geralt begins to move to Jaskier. If he takes the passage again he’ll get to him faster.

“I’m in the hall, with all of these stupid portraits. Honestly, could this man be anymore vain? It’s like he doesn’t—”

The connection cuts. Geralt’s mutagens spike in anger, the veins on his eyes becoming more prominent than before. He roars, charging to the manor, ready to tear down every wall, every column, every heartbeat until his mate is by his side.

“Do calm down butcher.”

The voice trickles from above, on a balcony that overlooks the gardens. When Geralt looks up, he snarls threateningly.

Jaskier is there (still breathing fortunately), with a knife to his neck and Stregobor behind him.

This scene is all too familiar. Like when he first met Jaskier.

When he didn’t know who he was.

Who he is.

Who he would become.

To him.

And now.

Now Stregobor will die for even laying a finger against the actor.

“Get off of him.” His voice brooks no argument. It is heavy, gritty, and more feral than it has ever been.

“I would not move if I were you butcher. For you see, the white tendrils in Julian’s blood indicate that the bond between the two of you has been accepted. Normally, they would be black but white…White means your lives are linked. If I kill him, you will go down too. Do you want to tempt fate? One more step and this blade goes in.

Geralt calculates how quickly he can get up there. If he scales the walls, that will take minutes and Jaskier doesn’t have that kind of time. He could jump, but the balcony is too far off the ground so he might not catch the railing.

“You will do as I say butcher. You are going to come inside after slaughtering my school, make your way downstairs to the lab, and we are going to see just how deep this bond goes. Now, move along.”

Geralt doesn’t budge. Because as Stregobor is speaking, he hears it. Boots clacking against the floor towards the pair.

And Geralt smirks.

Stregobor’s eyes narrow upon the pleased look on the witcher’s face.

The wall explodes.

Giant pieces of stone and brick go flying out, Stregobor’s body falls loose amongst the collapsing rock.

Geralt dives.

His body slides across the gravel, pebbles digging into his back to catch the falling body. The form lands roughly on top of his. Instinctively, his arms wrap around, his nose burrows into the neck that smells so sweetly of sandalwood and mint.

Jaskier.

His mate curls into him, ear pressed against his chest. He knows his heartbeat is a soothing sound for Jaskier, so he cradles the head to the spot where it is the loudest.

The world fades away. It goes to just the two of them, like when they first met after the doppler.

“Dearheart.” His mate murmurs into his chest. The witcher sighs deeply, eyes closing. He can feel his veins recede a bit. His mutagens are still pumping fiercely, not knowing if the threat is gone.

But right now, in this moment, it’s just the two of them.

“You’re safe Jaskier. You’re safe.

 

 


 

 

Stregobor’s body lies decimated amongst the debris, broken and bloodied. His breathing is shallow, and he zones in and out of consciousness. Yennefer stands over him, eyes burning.

Never has Jaskier been more glad to be on her good side.

The actor feels Geralt move the pair up to their feet. His eyes are still black, the veins standing out amongst his pale features.

“Geralt, would you like to do the honours?” Yennefer asks, raising an eyebrow.

The witcher stalks over to the body, Jaskier firmly attached to his waist. “Must we? Haven’t we had enough of this bloodshed?”

“Jaskier, his instinct is in overdrive. Until Stregobor’s dead, he won’t rest.”

Jaskier had a feeling that’d be the case. He sighs, nodding along. Geralt looks to him, concerned. He can feel the man’s wariness in their bond. He won’t kill Stregobor if it will bother Jaskier.

And it should. But it doesn’t. This man took Jaskier away from his witcher, drained him of his life source, all for the desire to take away Geralt’s ability to choose.

Jaskier would never take away Geralt’s free will. If his soulmate wants to do this, he’ll let him.

“Well, darling, if you must.”

His white wolf kisses Jaskier’s forehead, tilting his face into his shoulder so he won’t see the final blow. Geralt, the tender man, even covers his ears to soften the sound.

“It’s over.” He hums a moment later. When Jaskier turns his cheek, Stregobor’s head is no longer attached to his body. It’s rolled off to the side. Geralt must have sliced it off.

Yennefer brushes her hair back. “Good riddance.” With a wave of her hand, a portal appears.

“Go you two. The rest of us will clean up here.”

“Yennefer. Thank you.

“Glad you’re alive.”

“Glad you came to my dashing rescue.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes. Jaskier only grins, leaning on Geralt as Triss’s magic begins to wear off. The witcher notices, still running high on his mutagens and leads them into the portal.

They stagger into an infirmary, with Eskel and Ciri’s eyes wide as they appear.

“You’re okay!” The girl runs to the pair of them and wraps her arms tightly around.

“We’re alright princess.” And Jaskier knows it to be true. Until Geralt’s knees begin to buckle and he collapses, unconscious.  

“Geralt!”

And Jaskier, his shoulder wound now reminding him that it’s there, passes out promptly after.

 

 


Outfit Inspiration: 

 

Yennefer: 

 

 

Lambert: 

 

 

Eskel: 

 

 

Ciri: 

Notes:

I know you're sad there's one chapter left.

But, here's the thing.

You've all been so encouraging with your comments and kudos (I have never felt so appreciated!), so while Chapter 7 will be the final chapter of the story, I've decided to make some codas (seven in total) as little slice of life things! The story will show up as completed but the codas will update normally.

So, Batshit isn't going to be done just yet. And y'all, these codas? The bomb. I'm very excited to share them with you.

Song rec is Strangers by No Mana and Jantine as well as Shine by Eddie.

See you beauties by August 25 or earlier!

Chapter 7: All You Fuckers By My Side

Notes:

Well folks, we have come to the final chapter of the main story of Batshit. You guys have been absolute dreamboats with your enthusiasm to this story (which I definitely did not think people would enjoy this much) and I just feel all the love for you. This story had a skeleton plot line which, definitely took a few unexpected turns, but we ain't mad at that.

Warning this chapter DOES have a sex scene. It's the first one I've ever written so *fingers crossed* here's to hoping y'all enjoy it.

ALWAYS COMMUNICATE with your partner what you want. Don't assume they know. We stan healthy relationships in this house.

I own nothing and canon is the person I ignore on the bus commuting.

Onto the final chapter! (excluding the codas)

Enjoy lovelies!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Batshit

Chapter 7: With All You Fuckers By My Side

“True love exists. There's nothing more extraordinary than being lost in its trance by completely opening your heart and merging its rare and beautiful energy with another.”
― Karen A. Baquiran

 

 

Geralt groans as he awakens, the feeling of exhaustion fading away in his bones as he works himself up. Outstretching a hand, he finds himself to be in his own bed. It takes his brain a moment to register that he’s alone.

Wait.

No. That’s…no Jaskier

“Whoa, easy Dad.” The smell of primrose wafts by him, calming his climbing anxiety at his missing mate. He blinks slowly, becoming more aware as a face with long platinum blonde locks and green eyes goes from blurred to clear.  

“Ciri?”

“Hey Dad.” She smiles, the morning sun shining brightly on her.

“Where’s Jaskier?”

“He’s in the infirmary.”

“Why am—”

“Why are you not there?” The door opens and in walks Yennefer, looking tired. “He lost a lot of blood. We couldn’t risk moving him. But, even unconsciously, you were getting in the way of Triss healing him, so we put you here.”

“Yen…”

She waves off his growl. “He’s going to be fine. Just needs a lot of rest. Triss had some blood rejuvenation spells going on him. He should wake up in the next few.”

A breath of relief comes out. Geralt’s body loses its tension upon hearing that his mate will be okay. “Can Dad see him now?”

“Not just yet.”

“Why not?” Geralt gives her a stern look.

“Because Triss is sleeping and depleted by all of the events from the past few days. We all are. The entire keep’s been resting Geralt. Well, except Ciri and Eskel. When Triss wakes up she’ll want to check on him before he gets bombarded with visitors.”

“Okay mom but like, the soulmate should get a pass.” The girl says with a big grin. Yennefer shoots her a look.

“What? I make a fair point.”

Yen lets out an exasperated sigh, hands running through her hair. “Triss hasn’t given the go ahead. I don’t want—”

“I know you don’t want to because you’re dating and everything, but I don’t think Triss is going to get mad at you if you let Dad in there.”

Geralt can see Yen wrestling with her own desire to listen to her girlfriend and her daughter’s valid point. “Fine. But only because of the soulmate bond. Anything else and you’d be going nowhere near that room.”

Ciri grins while Geralt nods. He gets up slowly, his muscles stiff from the lack of movement. “How many days have I been out?” he asks as he slips into his closet.

“Two. Jaskier’s still asleep, so that concludes that his elven blood isn’t as effective. If he’d been full elf, he might be up and moving around by now, probably before you.”

“But he’s okay?”

Yes Geralt. He’s okay. Ciri, can you take him and make sure he doesn’t fall over his own two feet?”

“You got it Mom.”

Yennefer leaves, probably heading back to her partner’s side. Geralt emerges from his closet, dressed and ready to go.

“That’s a pretty chill look Dad.”

“Right now I just…I need…” He knows he’s tripping over his words but Ciri gets it. She softens.

“Okay. Then let’s get moving.”

She hops off the bed, takes his arm, and the pair walk out of the room to the infirmary. The journey isn’t long, but to Geralt it seems like decades.

But at least he can feel Jaskier’s heartbeat against his chest. It is steady, a reassuring presence that he is alive. He’s okay.

He’s safe.

Ciri pushes the door open when they arrive, taking the chair beside Jaskier’s bed as Geralt sits down on the covers. He strokes the hair out of the man’s face, pushing it behind his ear.

Jaskier’s bags around his eyes are gone with some colour back in his cheeks. He looks peaceful.

“How is he?”

“Hm?”

“Can’t you like check? In your bond?”

She makes a good point. Geralt closes his eyes, streaming himself into their connection. It’s always weird when he does it, as he feels like he’s invading an intimate part of Jaskier. But despite the strangeness he also knows it’s welcomed wholeheartedly because this intimate thing is theirs.

It’s shared.

Jaskier’s heart beats loud and clear. The blood flows and replenishes, filling his body to the brim with energy and life.

He’s alright. The sound of his life moving through him reassures Geralt further that his mate will be okay.

“He’s good.”

“You know, in the books I read, the romance ones, the couples always use like, physical touch to help you know? Maybe if you lie down beside him, he’ll wake up sooner.”

Geralt heeds her advice, positioning himself along his mate’s side. Jaskier’s breathing hitches, movement behind his eyelids as if he knows Geralt’s there but doesn’t know how to find him. The witcher caresses his thumb over the lids, a hum of satisfaction as the darting slows.

Jaskier settles further into Geralt’s side, as his slumber deepens.

“Did it work?”

“I think so. But he’s still resting.”

“Triss said he lost a lot of blood when she was healing him. Apparently the shoulder injury didn’t help either.”

Geralt peers over to the appendage, seeing no gaping hole. Only a little scar, that curves like a crescent moon. He frowns. “I didn’t see that there before. How bad was it?”

“I don’t know. She kicked me out before I could see it.”

“Hm.”

Geralt and Ciri stay there by Jaskier’s side, the witcher watching the rise and fall of the actor’s chest as Ciri plays on her phone. Neither speak, only wait for the man to wake up.

 

 


 

 

Jaskier comes to around the afternoon, blinking wearily as he shifts to a more comfortable position. Except, he can’t. There’s a very large and burly frame next to him, taking up the majority of the bed.

“You’re awake!”

A young voice brings his attention to his left, where Ciri sits smiling. “Morning princess.” He croaks out. Gods, how long has he been asleep? His voice is rough.

“It’s afternoon actually.”

“Oh. Ah. Well. I must’ve been asleep for some time then.”

“Yup. Here, Triss said if any of us are around when you wake up to have to drink some water.”

“Much obliged.”

He gulps it down greedily, before taking two more cups. “I have never found water so refreshing before.”

“You’ve been conked out for the past two days.”

“What?”

The exclamation begins to rouse the sleeping witcher by his side. Long white hair tickles his arms, a nose deeply inhaling him, before golden eyes reveal themselves.

Jaskier relaxes upon seeing his drowsy witcher. The man is an absolute beauty, beyond handsome, and the actor shall write a multitude of songs about this ravishing specimen when he is in the process of awakening.

“Jaskier.”

“Hello dearheart.” The whisper makes Geralt smile, which sends Jaskier’s heart aflutter. He can see Geralt’s scar, now white and barely visible against his skin. Jaskier faintly traces it, his ears flickering when his witcher’s breath hitches.

“Hm.”

“Bleh. Ugh. If you two are going to be all lovey dovey, I am out of here.” Ciri hops off her chair, hugs Jaskier, and leaves the two of them.

“Ciri is happy.”

“Yes, well, when her favourite person wakes up after two days of being unconscious, how can she not be? And well, I feel your happiness plays a part in it. Have you been well while I was gone?”

“Slept for two days. Just woke up earlier this morning.”

“Good. I’m not sure how your witchery things work, but you resting is a terrific thing.”

“Hm.”

Triss enters then, still tired but up and moving. “Oh good! You’re awake. And both of you are here.”

“Hello Triss. Heard I’ve been out of commission for a bit.”

“We all have. How are you feeling?”

“Well-rested. A tad sore.”

“That makes sense. You did get stabbed in the shoulder,” Geralt growls. “Easy wolf boy. And you lost a lot of blood, more than a half-elf half-human should. It’s amazing you were able to keep going as you did.”

“What do you think caused it?”

Geralt leaves Jaskier’s side much to his dismay. He had enjoyed the heat the larger man provided. But Triss does need the space to move around.

The redhead checks his scar and weaves her chaos around. “Honestly? My best guess is the soulmate bond. Since Geralt’s a witcher, his stamina and healing can go for pretty much as long as he needs to. With the two of you linked, and the anchor bond thrown in the mix, it’s likely that soulmate bond allows for Geralt’s own witcher abilities to transfer to you when you need it until the two of you are connected again. It would also explain why Geralt passed out as soon as the pair of you arrived here.”

Okay? I’ll admit, I’m a tad confused by all of that. But that also may be due to my brain needing to catch up to present day.”

Triss chuckles. “My theory is that if you’re away from Geralt and injured, you’ll still be alive and able fight until you get back to Geralt’s side. The magic will keep you awake until Geralt knows your safe. It’s like a reverse anchor bond. Except, rather then keeping you calm, it keeps you alive.”

“Neither one can die while the other lives.” murmurs Jaskier.

Triss nods. “Exactly. You lost a lot of blood, but you didn’t die, because the bond was keeping your heart beating until Geralt got to you because he was alive.”

“So, I can only die if the pair of us are together?”

“I honestly don’t know. Soulmate magic is complicated, and with the anchor bond mixed up in it, who knows what the two of you are capable of.”

Jaskier nods. “So, I’m immortal then.”

“Seems like it.”

“Huh. That’s…I’m not sure how I feel about that if I’m being honest.”

He looks over to Geralt whose face remains impassive. But he can feel a tension in their bond. Triss must notice because she wraps up her next bit quickly. “Alright. You’re all cleared to leave. No strenuous activities though. Your body needs a bit of time to get back to normal. Take it easy the next two days you two.” The redhead leaves with a wink.

Jaskier waves goodbye to her, before he swings his legs to the end of the bed and pushes himself up. His legs buckle, which makes him quite confident he’s about to hit the ground, but sturdy arms wrap around him before his knees hit the floor.

“Thank you.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier sighs and places a hand on Geralt’s chest, right over his heart, assured by it’s strong beat. “Geralt, what’s going on in that mind of yours?”

Cornflower blues crash onto a golden sunrise. “Nothing.”

“Geralt…”

The witcher lets out a sigh. “You said…you weren’t sure about living forever.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows go up. That’s what he’s so anxious about? Well, he supposes it makes sense seeing as it could be interpreted as an individual not wanting to be forever bound to someone.

Alright. They’re definitely going to need to work on that insecurity.

“Darling, no. I adore being bonded to you. I just, I suppose I never realized the implications.”

“You’re a half-elf.”

“Yes. Which means I’ll live longer than a human, but I would still die of old age.”

“Witchers are immortal.”

Jaskier perks up. “Really?”

“Hm. Usually it’s the path that kills us off.”

“Well, that’s…gruesome. Suppose that isn’t true anymore for the most part now, is it?”

“Just as you won’t die of old age.”

The actor purses his lips. “I don’t…there is an excitement to spending forever with you, you know. Opportunities to learn more about you, and witchers, watch Ciri grow up.”

A pleasant purr comes from inside Geralt making Jaskier grin. “Yes. We’ll watch her grow up and begin to date. Oh! Her first love. Ohhhhh I do look forward to seeing that.”

Geralt’s pleasant hum turns into a growl and he throws Jaskier over his shoulder. “What? Geralt! Triss said nothing strenuous! No manhandling! GERALT.”

His witcher just keeps moving. Jaskier can’t help but laugh through the absurdity, as he’s carried out of the infirmary, shifted from a fireman’s hold to a bridal. He nuzzles his head in-between the spot where the neck meets the shoulder, a space  that he’d dare say was made for him.

“You know, ever since I met you I’ve always wanted you to carry me like this.” Amusement flows through their bond, making Jaskier chuckle. “It’s true. The moment I saw you and all I could think was how much I wanted to sleep with you. Ride you, have you butcher me with your thighs.”

Heat flashes through him as he replays the fantasies in his head. But it intensifies, and he realizes it’s Geralt. Jaskier shoots his head to look at the man, whose keeping his face pointedly forward. “Are you…?”

Nimble fingers clasp the chin and turn it towards him. Geralt’s pupils are blown wide making the actor gasp in delight. “Oh Geralt.”

“No strenuous activities.”

The witcher places him down on the floor when they arrive to Jaskier’s bedroom. “Triss is wise, but surely sex isn’t too vigorous.”

He gets an eyebrow raised as a response. “You’re no fun. Fine. I suppose I shall spend my time composing until we’re given the green light.”

“Hm.”

The door opens and Jaskier waltzes in, beelining straight for his closet. “Now, Geralt, how do you feel about making out on my bed at least?”

The witcher’s grin is downright sinful.  

 

 


 

 

A while late finds Geralt standing in Triss’s lab, chopping up roots as she mutters over her cauldron. Jaskier’s locked himself in the music room, insisting that after a splendid makeout with Geralt (which ended due to his growing interest) he was inspired and could not let another minute pass. So he kicked the witcher out of his room and sped away with his guitar.

That’s left Geralt to his own devices. Which is fine. Even though they just recently reunited after Jaskier had been ripped away from his side and spent far too long away from him.

It’s fine. Geralt isn’t antsy. Jaskier is an adult and perfectly capable of being in a room, alone, and not dying or getting kidnapped.

Besides, the joy that flows from him in their connection…Geralt doesn’t want to take that away.

Not after everything that’s happened.

So, he’s in Triss’s lab, cutting up roots, getting lose in the methodical and repetitive process, letting his mind go blank. She hums something under her breath as she stirs, focused solely on her task.

The silent camaraderie is good.

Until Yennefer comes in, fabric swirling all over as she kisses Triss on her cheek before taking the spot across from Geralt. “So, now that Jaskier is back, you two sleep together yet?”

Geralt’s movements freeze, and Triss laughs behind.

“Triss said no strenuous activities.”

“So, that’s a no then.”

“Hm.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes. “Charming. Just do the grunting in bed and he’ll be all over you.”

Geralt shoots her a glare.

“Yen go easy on him. He’s nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

Oh. Oh you’re right he totally is. It’s like it’s your first time.”

“Yen…” he growls.

“Hun, it kinda is.” Triss says as she sits beside Yen whose cackling.

That gets Geralt’s brain out of its clear state. Fuck. When was the last time Geralt slept with anyone? And Jaskier…

Jaskier’s reputation precedes him. Lambert wouldn’t fucking shut up about it. And Geralt’s never…He’s never been with that many people. And yes, it may be different with Jaskier because their soulmates but still.

Shit now he is nervous.

“I think you’re going to be fine. Jaskier’s like an energizer bunny. He’ll just go.” Yennefer states as she and Triss burst into laughter as Geralt runs a hand down his face.

So much for mindless peace.

“Wait. Do you think the soulmate chaos will some how make it better? Some cosmic feeling when you orgasm?” The women pause in their hysterics, genuinely thinking it through. Geralt starts to inch for the door.

“Geralt, don’t leave yet. We’re sorry we’re teasing you. But…you are nervous.” Yen gives him a look.

“I’m not comfortable talking about this with either of you.”

Because fuck that.

“Oh and your brothers are going to be so much better? Or Vesemir? Could you imagine? It’d be like getting the sex talk. Actually, that’s exactly how that would go.” Yennefer smirks.  

Triss snorts. “Geralt, whatever is worrying you probably is just fear. Jaskier should be fine in the next few days. Just, you know, talk to him. Communicate what you’re into and what you’re not. You’ll feel better after you discuss it.”

That’s…actually good advice. And from the smug look on Yennefer’s face at her partner’s wisdom, they both know it too.

They’re a nightmare together. “Hm.”

Triss grins. “That’s a yes.”

 

 


 

 

Jaskier finishes his song in record time (due to staying in the room and working on it non-stop. A creative mind knows many sleepless nights). He tweaks it the next day, adding in the harmonies and the day after that he writes the lyrics to the other songs he’ll adding to the album.

Gods, he feels alive. Geralt has brought his inspiration to new heights.

He performs it for Ciri, who lights up at the lyrics and claps along in delight. She loves it, and insists it be played at dinner so everyone can hear.

“You have to Jas! Everyone’s going to love it.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely.”

So dinner finds him with his guitar perched on his lap, people’s plates stacked around with their attention dutifully on him. His palms are clammy. Gods he hasn’t been this nervous about performing in ages.

A ripple of calmness strokes through him and he send a grateful smile to his soulmate, who simply nods his encouragement.

Jaskier plays.

The tune is more of an epic than he originally planned, with fantastical elements that paint the picture of a man in leather armour, whose hair is white as snow and eyes that blaze like the morning sun. A man who fights for humanity, who is a friend to all. Someone who has bewitched him, mind, body, and soul. His voice rises and grows as he loses himself in the music, his fingers waltzing with the strings, all tied together to bring everyone to their feet.

When he finishes, the room is quiet before it erupts into applause. He can see Eskel tearing up, Lambert’s mouth dropped in shock, Vesemir with a smile on his face. Yennefer and Triss are clapping and grinning while Ciri squeals in glee.

And then there’s Geralt.

Geralt’s eyes are so intense that Jaskier can’t look away. The air thickens and he can feel the witcher’s desire for him burn brightly. He can’t move his legs so instead…

He bites his lip.

Geralt moves. He slams the chair in, grabs Jaskier’s hand and drags him away from the dining hall, ignoring the hooting and hollering from his brothers. Jaskier spots Yennefer slide Triss a twenty.

His excitement is bubbling over so he can’t even bother to care. They’re finally going to have sex. And Jaskier could not be more ready.

When they’re out of earshot, Geralt pins him to the wall and his mouth devours Jaskier’s.

It’s paradise.

Geralt’s hands grip his hips and push them further into the side as their chests collide. His tongue caresses Jaskier’s, exploring in the inside of it and they battle for dominance until Jaskier all too willingly submits. The actor moves one hand to cradle his witcher’s face while the other goes behind, grips the hair, and pulls.

The moan that comes from Geralt is filthy and goes straight to Jaskier dick which he can feel rising rapidly, pushing against the fabric of his pants and he very much wants to move to a bedroom and get them off.

His nails scrap against the neck, digging in as Geralt lifts his legs to wrap around his hips, pushing him closer to the wall. At this angle, he can feel Geralt pressing against him and it feels glorious.

“Bedroom.” It comes out hot and bothered and breathy. He feels himself come off the wall and yelps, clutching onto Geralt’s neck as he begins to slip. The witcher chuckles, their making out paused until they reach Geralt’s bedroom. He pins Jaskier to the door, going for the neck and sending goosebumps alight, and Jaskier shivers at the pleasure Geralt’s bites bring. He scrambles to the handle, twisting it while trying to keep some semblance of sanity as Geralt devours his neck.

Bloody hell this is divine.

The door opens, and then is kicked shut by Geralt who tosses Jaskier onto the bed. His gold eyes are blown, his breathing heavy and Jaskier is simmering under the intense lust in their bond.

“Fuck.”

And it’s quickly followed by anxiety. Jaskier scrambles up, ignoring the desire to stroke to tease because his white wolf is nervous.

“Dearheart what is it?”

“Fuck. Sorry. We…we should’ve talked about this.”

Jaskier pauses, mind reeling. Does Geralt not want this? No. He most certainly does by the tent in his pants so what…oh.

“Oh you sweet, sweet man. Come here.”

Jaskier grasps Geralt’s wrist and pulls him in-between his legs. The feral passion dies down, but the actor knows that tonight, should they continue, won’t be animalistic, but instead a tender loving of one another. He takes the witcher’s hands, interlacing their fingers.

“Darling I want you in any way you would like. Now, I did prep for you to take me, because Triss gave me a clean bill of health and I did have a whole plan of you ravaging me worked out, so you would have been able to just, go in, after all the foreplay was done, but what would you like to do?”

“I…I would like to take care of you, if that’s alright.”

“It’s more than alright. Truth be told, I think…I think I prefer it that way for our first time. But I am flexible should you change your mind. Is there anything else?”

“I haven’t…been with anyone…in…in a long time.”

Oh his precious white wolf. “Sweetheart that is perfectly alright. You can set the pace. We can take it as slow as you’d like. Or do you want me to?”

“I would like to.”

Jaskier inwardly cheers. He was hoping his witcher when they slept together for the first time, would be in control. “Okay. Anything else?”

“No.” And then Geralt takes Jaskier’s face in his hands and kisses him so compassionately and slowly. He gently coaxes his mouth open with his, and gradually lowers Jaskier to the bed, leaning over him. The white-haired man takes off Jaskier’s shirt and his own before making his way down the actor, kissing his lips, then his jaw, his neck, down to his nipples, where he rolls his tongue around making Jaskier’s breath hitch. A lot of attention is given to that spot, Jaskier’s mind reeling and spiralling into ecstasy because he can’t think of words, can’t think of anything to say other than moan obscenely loud.

Geralt continues his journey, tasting the curls on his chest and then unzipping his pants and pulling off all of Jaskier’s bottom garments as he kisses his hip. Jaskier sighs blissfully until it transforms into a gasp because Geralt has just taken him in his mouth. He bucks up but Geralt’s hand presses his chest down, pinning him and Jaskier can barely marvel at Geralt’s strength because his tongue is doing wonderous things. He sucks, licks, circles, around Jaskier, occasionally moaning so the vibrations send the actor further into a descent of madness.

Geralt I…I’m not—Melitele.”

Geralt leaves with a pop and Jaskier’s quite sure he’s melted into the bed. But they’re not done, as Geralt climbs over him and brings his lips to Jaskier’s once more. He can taste himself on Geralt, the bit of precum that leaked out and while he’s never been one to be into his own juices, tasting himself on Geralt is an otherworldly experience.

Perhaps it’s the soulmate thing, why he is so drawn into desires he would never usually find beguiling, but he isn’t going to complain about whatever is making him happier by the second.

Geralt’s manoeuvres them fully onto the bed as Jaskier leaves his lips for his ear which he bites and then licks to sooth. The response is a deep inhale by his neck, Geralt soaking in Jaskier’s scent which sends prickles all the way down. His hands caress Jaskier’s sides, before he leans to the nightstand and grabs the lube. His  nose then goes to his clavicle, Geralt breathing in Jaskier as he descends and gods he could get off just on this.

Geralt places a light kiss on his hipbone before he leans back, takes off his own pants and underwear and lathers his fingers generously with the lube.

Jaskier barely has time to bask in the naked witcher because soon he feels a digit enter, coaxing in and out as it works him open. It’s quickly joined by a second, and he groans. His hole is more pliant from earlier when he had cleaned in hopes of this, which makes him glad he did the prep work.

Not that Geralt doing working him open isn’t absolutely gratifying because he certainly knows how to use his fingers. Jaskier shamelessly lets out another moan as a third one enters, his movements no longer staying by grinding against in hopes of more friction.

Geralt does not disappoint. He adds a fourth, working Jaskier open as he bites the inside of his thigh, relieving the mark with his lavish tongue and Jaskier is thrilled to be able to have Geralt’s displays of possession on his skin. The fire burns in his lower region at the thought of others seeing him being claimed.

The fingers leave, Jaskier missing their presence but he feels Geralt’s tip right there to replace them, which makes Jaskier grip the bed frame in anticipation. Geralt doesn’t go in quickly, but bit by bit, making sure Jaskier can take him entirely and doesn’t feel too much pain upon entry.

He knew his witcher was big but having him filling him up to the brim makes him feel full in a way he never knew was possible. None of his other lovers had done this, had made him feel so complete.

“Are you?”

“Yes. Move. Please.”

Geralt responds to the request, thrusting beautifully and drawing moans from Jaskier’s lips. One hand stays on his hip while the other crawls up and interlaces their fingers together. Jaskier’s free hand goes down to his manhood, stroking it in time with the thrusts, rolling his hips to the beat of Geralt’s pants.

He’s not going to last long.

But the bond, it seems to expand and pulse between the two, the feelings of want and need and fullness intensifying the closer they get to the brink. The thrusts speed up, signalling Geralt is close. Jaskier’s lets out a groan against the witcher, whose hand from the hip moves to be overtop Jaskier’s, joining in stroking him to completion. Everything they do in this moment, Jaskier knows they are doing together.

And then, his vision goes white, eyes fluttering as his orgasm hits, his mouth dropping open and gasping, the fluid releasing onto Geralt’s chest. Geralt begins to pull out, but Jaskier grabs his wrist, a silent signal of to not leave. The witcher doesn’t, instead growling his release inside of Jaskier and he shutters as he gets filled up.

Geralt presses his forehead to the actor, their breathing synced. “Was that as brilliant for you as it was for me?” Jaskier sighs out. Geralt only chuckles, kissing his lips chastely as he holds him, positioning them together side by side without exiting.

Jaskier is grateful for that. He doesn’t want his witcher to go just yet. “It was.”

“Good.”

Geralt holds him close, his nose burrowed against Jaskier’s neck, which the actor is starting to think is his white wolf’s favourite place to be (and he certainly won’t complain because it feels wonderful) and Jaskier kisses the top of the white hair, beginning to become drowsy from the lovemaking (and he is, technically, still recuperating because his stamina isn’t quite up to par yet).

“Sleep Jaskier.”

So he closes his eyes, the feeling of fullness and contentment easing him into slumber along with the knowledge that here in Geralt’s arms, he has never felt safer.

And that forever doesn’t feel too bad at all.

 

 


 

 

One Year Later:

 

“Shani, darling, the greatest agent to walk the earth, I am going to be fine.

“Sorry if I don’t want a repeat of last year.”

“Dearest you know I’m in a committed relationship.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.”

Jaskier huffs. “Rude, though, fair. But it’s different this time. You know this.”

“Honestly, when you told me you found your soulmate, I thought you were hammered. But, like, good catch.”

“You know I would never joke about something so serious.”

“Uh huh. Now, I know you’ve already given an answer, but I have to ask one more time. Are you sure you don’t want to reveal your relationship to the public? It would do wonders for your reputation and honestly his as well. You’d get a lot more offers for roles, probably become an A-lister by the end of the year. You sure you want to keep this on the down-low?”

Jaskier sighs. “Yes. We discussed it. We want privacy Shani. Geralt, I love the man, but he doesn’t do well in the spotlight and quite frankly I don’t want to share it.”

“You wrote a whole album about him. And are introdu—”

I know. But that’s a character. No need to know who it’s based on.”

He can her Shani sigh on the other end. “Alright. I think it’s a mistake, but I respect your wish. You heading to the panel soon?”

“Yes. Meg’s giving me a signal right now actually. Got to go.”

“Knock em dead Jaskier.”

“I always do darling.”

He hangs up and slides his phone in his pocket as he walks over to the door where Meg stands. She smiles at him and opens it. “Break a leg.”

“Always.” He gives her a disarming grin to which she shakes her head in laughter, making room for him to step through the door and find his way to the seat. He waves to Essi and Priscilla and glares daggers at Valdo who glares right back. Well, nice to know the rivalry is still going strong. He notices Cahir’s seat is empty but doesn’t pay it much mind. The asshole is probably off on some other project. Meg signals she’s letting people in and Jaskier gets himself settled, mentally preparing for the exhilaration that is Comic-Con.  

People flood in the room and take their seats, the energy level skyrocketing. The panel begins, all of them excited and buzzing about the fun of filming season three of Dandelion and what fans can expect the season to look like. There are a lot of laughs, some quips (he gets Marx good a couple of times) and secret smiles when the commentator hits at something a little close to the plot. Then, it’s the Q&A with fans. Most of the questions are for Jaskier about his character, whether he’ll get a romance arc (and the answer is yes and he’s very excited), some questions go to Essi about the creative process, some to Priscilla on being the sister to Dandelion, and (in his face the utter pollock) none to Valdo.

The last question is to Jaskier, from a young girl (who funnily enough looks like the doppler from a year ago but thankfully Jaskier is taken no so backstage sessions. Unless Geralt offers. And then, well, who is he to say no?). “This question is for Jaskier. Your new album, which is amazing by the way I can’t stop listening to it, you have a song called The White Wolf? Is it about a certain someone?”

He smiles demurely, knowing that he was bound to get a question like this. Shani prepped him thoroughly thank god. “Well, as delightful as it would be for that song to be about someone in particular, I’m afraid it isn’t.” Jaskier is about to continue on, when at the far end of the room he sees Geralt, leaning against the doorframe, amusement written all over his face.

By gods he is absolutely mouth-watering. He shakes himself out of his ogling, focusing back onto answering the question.

“When I went on my retreat to the mountains months ago (that’s the excuse Shani came up with to explain his absence from the media for four months and no Valdo it wasn’t rehab you wanker), the beauty I saw in the white snowy peaks and the golden morning sunrise inspired me so much that the album just flew out of me. I’ve never written music so easily before. So, it was the splendor of what I encountered in the mountains. That is the muse of the album.”

The commentator thanks the girl and wraps up the panel, encouraging fans to visit the expo floor to check out the merchandise. The cast wave goodbye to the fans and go backstage all in good spirits after a good panel. Jaskier laughs with Priscilla about some of the close calls when he sees Geralt near the crafts table.

The witcher must’ve left when the panel ended to meet him backstage. The thought makes him smile so he quietly approaches in an attempt to surprise him but, because witcher hearing, the man sees it coming.

Instead, Jaskier lands into large arms that wrap around his waist and soft kiss planted on his lips. “So, three words or less. How was I?”

Geralt mulls it over, before smirking. “Alright.”

“Whoa whoa whoaaaa. I was more than alright. I was riveting, elegant, utterly captivating. They were eating it right up! Alright he says. As if! That would be Valdo Marx with his mediocre acting and average sized brain!”

Geralt only laughs, his thumbs rubbing over Jaskier’s temples as he gets himself worked up. He calms down pretty quick.

“Not fair.” he pouts.

“Hm.”

Stupid witcher and his ability to read Jaskier like a book. Though, that talent has been quite beneficial in several situations.

“You know, I’ve got about three hours before I have to go to the signing, what’s say you and I play hooky?”

An eyebrow raises followed by an unimpressed snort. “You’re incorrigible.”

You certainly weren’t complaining last night when you took me in the alleyway behind the dumpster at Eskel’s party. Which, by the way, we are never doing again. My clothes reek.

Geralt laughs again. “Can’t. Everyone wants to have lunch with you to celebrate.”

“Oh! What a lovely surprise. Lead on then.”

Jaskier loops his arm into Geralt’s, leaning on the man’s bicep enjoying his warmth. But then, a familiar hallways catches his eye. “Geralt.”

“Hm?”

“Look at where we are.”

The witcher stops, glancing around before his eyebrows raise.

“Darling, this is where it all began.”

“You mean where it went to shit.”

 Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Shush. I’m trying to be romantic. Now, yes it did get rather insane, but it’s where you rescued me, rather magnificently I might add.”

“If you had kept it in your pants I wouldn’t have needed to.”

He huffs. “Yes, well despite that, my frivolities led me to you. My soulmate. My white wolf.”

“Hm.” Jaskier can sense the fondness for him in their bond. He spins into Geralt’s arms, kissing him.

“And because it led me to you, we now have forever. Not a bad outcome for a batshit situation.”

“Not bad at all.”

Jaskier sighs happily into his witcher’s embrace, staring fondly at the hall where the memory of them sitting together after all the madness occurred, wondering what exactly he had gotten himself into. Now, he wouldn’t change a thing.

Well, he could do without the near-death experiences, but he did choose a witcher, so he supposes it comes with the territory.

“Alright. Enough sappiness. Lead me to my party.”

“Not a party.”

“Oh? So then just a gathering of people who are just casually celebrating me?”

“Hm.”

“Dearheart if Lambert’s going to get drunk then it is, most certainly, a party.”

Geralt only chuckles, wrapping his arm around Jaskier’s shoulder as he leads him to their friends, pure love and adoration flowing between the two.

 

 


 

 

Geralt stands and watches his family all drink and laugh together with Jaskier. Ciri’s grinning ear to ear, far happier than she ever has been (though that might be due to that fact she’s been uploading pictures of Jaskier to social media because she knows a celebrity), Lambert is, well, drunk (or at least on his way there) and Eskel is chuckling at something Vesemir has said. Triss and Yennefer are quietly flirting underneath the table as they talk to Jaskier who’s waving his hands around in enthusiasm over the panel.

He’s in his element certainly, and it reminds Geralt of when he first saw him. Someone with cornflower blues and an energy for life he had never known. And now, he can’t think of ever dying, ever risking his life to the path when he has someone to come home to. Someone who cares for him so deeply and unfathomably.

Geralt’s got his insecurities and those aren’t going to go away any time soon. But with Jaskier who talks with him, listens to him, understands him, Geralt knows they’ll fade.

Slowly but surely, they’ll disappear.

Because Jaskier’s love for him, which flows unabashedly through their link and surrounds him with warmth and comfort and peace, is limitless. The man loves with everything that he is, is honest with his emotions and makes sure he doesn’t overwhelm Geralt in their bond. He tries and works on himself to be a better partner, a better lover, a better friend and Geralt does the same. Not out of obligation or expectation but because this is Jaskier, and he matters.

Soulmate or not, Geralt would’ve chosen Jaskier. He knows that in the deepest parts of him. He’ll choose him, over and over again, as long as the actor wants him.

“Geralt! Get over here!”

He pushes off of the wall, walking over and sitting himself down beside his mate, wrapping an arm behind him to rest on the chair.

“Geralt, love of my life, can you please tell Yennefer that what I am wearing today is not a crime against fashion and is, in fact, from the latest collection by Fringilla Vigo which means it is exactly the right thing to be wearing.”

“I think you look nice.”

The man’s eyes narrow as Yennefer barks out a laugh. “Jaskier you chose the wrong person to get an opinion from. He’s about as objective as a rock.”

The pair launch into some sort of argument about the validity of Geralt’s opinion (which Yennefer makes a fair point but Geralt’s not going to admit that) and Geralt just lets himself sink into the joy of this moment, the scent of sandalwood and mint calming him into happiness.

Cornflower blues pass by him, a small quirk of lips despite being in the midst of a verbal sparring match.

Geralt can’t believe he gets to have this. An anchor who is also his soulmate.

Forever.

 

 


Outfit Inspiration: 

 

Geralt: 

 

 

Ciri: 

 

 

Yennefer: 

 

 

Jaskier: 

 

Triss: 

 

Lambert: 

 

 

Eskel: 

 

 

Vesemir: 

Notes:

And that's it everyone! The main story of Batshit has come to a close. Thank you for all your comments and kudos. Feeling the adoration over here.

The first Coda will be up by August 30 or earlier. It's titled "Dead End" and a little quick synopsis is as follows: "The gang get together to watch the Season Three premiere of Dandelion." It's a total fluffy piece so I hope you're excited for it! There's seven codas in total so you've got some goodies coming your way.

I hope you all enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I do have some more Geraskier fics planned (at least four) so be on the lookout for those! I'm not sure which one I'll write next so just be aware that there will be more coming your way.

This story will be marked as completed even though the codas are going to be uploaded in the next while.

Thank you everyone! You're all gems and beauties and the best fandom an author could ask for. Love you lot to bits!

~ Fungumunguss

Chapter 8: Coda 1: Dead End

Notes:

Hey all! This coda got finished real quick and is a lot shorter than expected (most codas won't be this short).

It's a cute piece I think. Hope you all like family time and all this fluff!

Enjoy beauties!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Batshit

Coda 1: Dead End

I looked up my family tree and found out I was the sap.”

- Rodney Dangerfield



Jaskier stretches his arms upwards while rolling his neck, glad the interview has finished and now he can focus on spending time with family. Of course, their plan is to watch the season premiere of his show and while he is very excited because he truly believes it’s the best season yet, he is also very, very, nervous.

It’s the first time in the series his character is going to have a romance arc. And well, the individual who the paramour is based on hits a little close to home. But Essi loved it so they ran with it.

Gods he hopes the fans like it.

Speaking of romantical partners, Jaskier sees Geralt leaning against Roach as he exits, looking delectable in leather. “Geralt!”

Gold eyes fall on the actor, a sense of affection caressing him in their bond. He grins, running into the man’s arms and kissing him soundly.

“Hello dearheart.”

“Hm. How’d it go?”

“It went well I think. Darla was perfectly lovely and thankfully kept to the show and not my personal life. What’s the plan for later?”

“Well, I know Ciri’s got everyone ready to go for tonight.”

“The darling. I’m glad you’re all going to be watching it with me. Goodness knows that while I am very good at my job, this is a new endeavor we’re taking. It’s quite possible the fans won’t think the chemistry is legitimate.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“We’ll see what everyone else says.”

“Come on. Let’s go.”

Geralt hands a helmet to Jaskier who puts it on as he sits in on the backseat. Roach roars to life underneath them, making the actor wraps his arms around the torso of his witcher before the pair are off, heading to the motel where they’ll portal back to the keep.

He tries not to stress but finds that he can’t. Dandelion is a precious thing to him and he’s not ready to lose it. And while the show does have more seasons confirmed after this one, that could change if the audience doesn’t like what they see.

A wave of calm runs through Jaskier causing him to grin and shove his face into Geralt’s back, squeezing the waist in gratitude. He doesn’t know what he’s done to have the witcher be his partner for life, but he is certainly glad he does.

 

 


 

 

“Okay. Jaskier’s on his way according to Dad. He’s like super nervous, so positive comments only. If you don’t have nothing nice to say, don’t say it.” Ciri glares at Lambert, who’s sitting on the couch with a beer in hand.

“What are you looking at me for?”

“Because you’re a dick.” Yennefer says, cuddling Triss on their loveseat while sending an amused glare at the young witcher.

Lambert grumbles, taking a swig from his drink as Eskel pats him on the shoulder, chuckling at the antics. “We’ll be on our best behaviour.”

Ciri nods firmly as she claps her hands. “Sweet! Alright. We’ve got about an hour before they get here so we need to set up. Mom and Triss, you’re on snacks. Uncle Eskel and Uncle Lambert you’re on coziness. Make this place like, super comfy. Vesemir, you can just chill.”

“Wait. How come the grandpa doesn’t have to do anything?” shouts Lambert, already fed up with this night. Ciri rolls her eyes. “Because he set up the projector and tv. So he’s done his part.”

The younger witcher goes back to complaining under his breath. Eskel shakes his head. “We’ve got it.”

“Good. Okay. Break team!”

Everyone moves quickly, knowing that Geralt isn’t one for stalling and Jaskier’s probably eager to unwind from work for the day. Ciri plops herself down on her beanbag chair, checking her phone for any updates as the group leaves the room. There’s nothing from her dad or his partner so she concludes that they must be on route.

She hopes Jaskier’s nerves settle by the time the show airs.

 

 


 

 

Yennefer and Triss get to the kitchens, grabbing various bowls and filling them with Jaskier’s favourite snack foods. The redhead throws a bag of popcorn in the microwave and as it pops she starts grabbing drinks. “Did you watch the full series to catch up?”

Yen gives her an incredulous look. “Do I look like I watch musicals?”

“C’mon. I hear you in the shower. You enjoy your Broadway tunes.”

“Broadway is not the same thing as a TV show where the actors sing horribly as they kill monsters.”

“So you did watch it!”

Yennefer huffs and rolls his eyes while she sets up a nacho plate. “Fine. I may have viewed it so I could know what was going on.”

“And you liked it.”

She shrugs. “Hardly. The entire thing is a strange concept that barely makes any sense.”

Triss frowns. “Really? I followed the plot pretty easily. I enjoyed it. I think it’s good. Great show to binge too.”

“Well, be sure to tell Jaskier that. He needs the ego boost.” The pair share a grin before they continue with getting everything ready.

 

 


 

 

Eskel and Lambert meanwhile are grabbing blankets from the linen closet and pillows, discussing the night themselves.

“So, the kid’s pretty excited about this huh?”

“I think she just wants Jaskier to be supported. You’ve seen what a nervous wreck he’s been since they finished filming.”

That’s why he was twitching left and right? Thought Geralt might’ve stabbed him.”

“No Lambert that’s something you would do.”

The younger witcher shrugs. “He’d probably have it coming.”

Eskel only rolls his eyes as he shuts the closet door. “I think that’s enough.”

“Nah. We need more pillows.” The sarcastic tone on Lambert doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Look, I know you have this tick that makes you a jerk to everyone who talks to you, but if you don’t keep your mouth shut tonight, you’re going to have to deal with Geralt. A very pissed off Geralt. And you know how he gets when Jaskier cries.”

“Dude’s a wimp.”

“That dude is his soulmate. All he needs is to feel a tinge of sadness from Jaskier and he’ll rip your head off.”

“I’d like to see the fucker try.”

“Right. Because you usually win the fights between you and him.”

“Fuck off Eskel.”

The witcher raises his hands full of blankets. “I’m just warning you. Jaskier’s already a jittering wreck. Geralt’s going to be on edge making sure he’s okay. You do not want to add to that.”

Lambert grumbles about Eskel maybe being right which makes him let out a breath of relief. They might actually get through the night without someone losing a limb.

 

 


 

 

Jaskier and Geralt pull up to their motel, Geralt taking out his cellphone and sending a quick text to Ciri to let her know they’ve arrived at the pickup spot. She fires back to give her few minutes which makes the witcher sure she’s getting Yennefer.

Jaskier seems to have calmed down a bit, content to rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder. But he’s still worried. So, the witcher wraps an arm around, squeezing a bit, followed by his fingers caressing the arm.

“It’s going to be fine.”

“Hm.”

“The premiere. It’ll go off swimmingly and the fans will love it.”

“Mhm.”

“And the ratings will go through the roof. And the studio execs will adore it and refuse to ever cancel the show.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier chuckles, kissing Geralt’s shoulder. “Say something less encouraging why don’t you.”

“Your show is going to do well. Your ratings have been solid in the past two seasons and your fans have been demanding a romance arc for Dandelion for a while which is finally happening. Essi knows what she’s doing. It’s going to be fine.”

“Sweet talker.”

Geralt shakes his head in laughter, kissing Jaskier with a pleasant hum while sending positivity through their bond so the actor can worry less. It works.

“Thank you.”

“Hm.”

A portal appears, it’s chaos crackling all around. Geralt gets back on Roach with Jaskier behind him and they drive through, coming into the garage to park the bike. Ciri stands at the door to the keep, bouncing on her toes in her leisure wear. Jaskier, as usual, leaves his helmet on the bike as he dashes to the girl’s side, excitement now overtaking him with what she’s got planned.

Normally, Geralt would berate Jaskier for leaving a mess but with his mate in a bundle of nerves he leaves it. No point to further aggravate him. He puts everything back in its proper place and joins his daughter, giving her a quick hug before she chatters off about the night.

“Alright. I’ve got Mom and Triss on snack duty which they’re setting up now. Uncle Lambert and Uncle Eskel have set up the space with pillows and blankets so it’ll be oober comfortable. You go get into your comfy clothes and meet us in the den. And don’t stress. You’re show is amazing and I am so excited for season three!”

Ciri scampers off, Geralt with a quirk in his lips at his daughter while Jaskier blinks. “That was a whirlwind.”

“Hm.”

“Come on you big lug. Let’s get comfortable.”

Geralt and Jaskier walk to their room, both going to their respective closets. The witcher strips and throws on sweatpants and shirt, running a hand lightly threw his hair before wrapping half of it up.

He’s ready to go but his mate is, as usual, taking his sweet time.

“Your show starts in ten.”

“Can’t rush perfection darling.”

Geralt snorts. There’s no need to doll up when it’s just family. But when the man emerges, the witcher’s mouth goes dry, with a growl rumbling in his chest. Jaskier laughs, demurely placing a hand over his heart. “Relax dearheart.”

“They’ll see you.”

“Just because they see doesn’t mean they get to touch.”

The witcher huffs. Jaskier is right and he knows it, but he doesn’t like it. He never does.

“Fine.”

“My darling white wolf.” He places a chaste kiss on his lips, but Geralt deepens it, and then sucks a deep mark onto his collarbone. Hidden enough that it isn’t noticeable but should the shoulder of the housecoat fall, everyone will know who Jaskier belongs to.

He smells arousal drifting around Jaskier, so he pulls away. They’ll have time for that later.

“Time to go.”

Jaskier blinks out of his daze. “Hm? Oh right. Yes. Show. My show.”

Geralt chuckles, wrapping an arm around his mate as they head to the den. The group is all settled in waiting for them, and the witcher is slightly impressed at the layout. The women didn’t skimp on the snacks and his brothers actually made the place look decently comfortable.

Jaskier sits on their shared spot, grabbing a blanket and putting it over top of the two of them as Geralt wraps his arm behind him.

“Everyone ready? Season three of Dandelion begins in like thirty seconds.” Ciri says enthusiastically, her eyes going to the actor to gauge him.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Jaskier’s anxiety returns full force, slightly eased by the calming swells Geralt sends to him. The snuggling he does into the witcher’s side probably doesn’t hurt either.

“Oh! Everyone shush! It’s starting!”

 

 


 

 

Watching himself on screen has always delighted Jaskier. He’s nothing but vain, knowing that his show displays himself beautifully and truly captures the extent of his talents.

But this time as he watches his character Dandelion, monster hunter extraordinaire, go into a back alley to kill some sort of ghoul, the nerves spike.

This is it.

He feels Geralt gently rub his shoulder to comfort, which he appreciates very much the darling man, and when the new character drops onto the screen to the delighted gasp of Ciri, Jaskier thinks, this might actually work.

The new character is entirely in black, long white hair that flows out behind and gold eyes that shimmer behind his mask. He is broad and built and all together a man worth drooling over.

His beard is nice too.

This stranger steps in and swiftly decapitates the ghoul.

“I could’ve gotten that.”

“It was about to have your head.”

“I was leading it into a false sense of security.”

“Hm.”

“Who are you?”

“Call me the white wolf.”

“Oh my god.”

Jaskier glances over to Yennefer, whose grinning hard, trying not to let her laughter burst. Triss meanwhile is gasping, her eyes going wide. Lambert and Eskel are hollering while Vesemir chuckles lightly.

“Dad! You’re immortalized!”

“Already was.”

“Yeah but now it’s on TV.”

Jaskier feels Geralt flush under embarrassment so he snuggles further into the witcher’s side. The man rumbles in contentment at the action.

“Wonder what inspired that.” Yennefer cackles, her laughter pouring out in abundance as she no longer can hold it in. Triss joins her.

“It’s not that cheesy is it?”

“Oh no! Not at all! I mean, for us it is a little bit because it’s obvious who this is based on but for the rest of the viewers they’ll eat it up.”

“Thank you Triss.”

The redhead winks at him before going back to watching the show. Dandelion bursts into his opening number upon the white wolf’s exit, singing about the mystery of the man with the wolf medallion, whose hair shines like moonlight and eyes that burn like a thousand suns.

“Wait, this is a fucking musical?

The entire group stares at Lambert. “Didn’t you watch the show beforehand?” Eskel gives him a skeptical look.

“No why would I?”

“That’s a lie! I saw you binge it yesterday.” Ciri says pointing at him smirking.

“Called out by the kid. Did you sing along to the songs?” Eskel’s laughing rings loud. Lambert grumbles.

“No. Skipped over it. Songs are dumb.”

“Says the man in a onesie.” Jaskier quirks an eyebrow.

Fuck you this shit is comfortable.”

“Can we please stop swearing in front of my child?” Yennefer huffs.

“I’ve heard worse. Besides you all swear all the time.”

“Not compared to Lambert.”

Ciri high fives Jaskier, the pair smiling like idiots. Yennefer rolls her eyes, and everyone goes back to watching the show.

Dandelion finishes his song in a flourish, hopping down from the lamppost as he walks home. And the familiar masked figure follows him from the rooftops.

“Wait he heard him sing about him?” Yennefer looks totally confused as she asks. Jaskier looks over to her to explain.

“The singing is more of an inner monologue, so the audience knows the thoughts. The other characters don’t actually hear the songs.”

“I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.”

“I think it’s cool. You get to see what they really think. Besides, the songs are catchy.”

“Thank you princess.” Ciri beams.

The show continues on, the group all relaxing as they continue watching the premiere. The white wolf shows up a few more times, rescuing Dandelion from the clutches of almost having his head ripped off. There’s one scene in particular where Jaskier’s character’s death is very close. That makes Geralt pull him in, taking a deep inhale of his scent, assuring himself he’s okay.

Jaskier doesn’t comment but only curls further in. He knows his witcher gets antsy about his possible demise after their previous excursions (almost dying in a lab, having a doppler to close to his throat, one gets the picture). So it’s best to allow him the physical touch to reassure him. Not that Jaskier is complaining. He adores being the little spoon for Geralt.

The next scene sequence features a shirtless Jaskier, to which Lambert hoots and hollers while Yennefer whistles. Triss waggles her eyebrows at Jaskier. He grins, the vibration from Geralt’s pleasure at seeing him half-naked absolutely heavenly. He had been building up his muscle for that scene. The happy rumble shifts into a growl as Valdo’s character comes into the locker room also half naked.

“You know it isn’t real right my darling?” Jaskier kisses his neck and Geralt grips his chin and gives him a fabulous kiss that is very unsuitable for a child’s eye.

“NO. FUCK NO. DO THAT FUCKING SHIT ELSEWHERE.” Lambert chucks a spring roll at them. Geralt catches it, biting it ferociously and the younger witcher blanches.

“For fucks sake.

Jaskier laughs, lightly kissing his witcher once more and tasting the food on his tongue.

“There is a child present you two.” Yennefer gives a pointed look. Ciri, without even looking away from the screen, speaks. “It’s fine. I’ve seen worse.”

Geralt and Yennefer freeze, looking at her with wide eyes. “What?” The sorceress’s eyes narrow. The witcher growls.

“What? I accidentally walked in on Mom and Triss when they were in the springs and then another time on Dad and Jaskier when they were in the kitchen.”

“How? What?” Yennefer’s flabbergasted. Triss is trying hard not to be absolutely mortified.

“Oh dear. Geralt, I think we may have scarred your child.” Jaskier muffles his laughter at the insanity of it all while his witcher, if he could blush, would be beet red.

“It’s fine. Sex is like a thing. I was gonna learn about it soon enough anyway.”

“But you’re only thirteen!”

“Yeah. But now that I’m attending a public school they like, teach you this kind of stuff.”

Yennefer gives Geralt an incredulous look, silently telling him to do something. He’s still frozen. Jaskier shakes his head, the nerves from before all gone. He loves his pseudo family, this group of rambunctious misfits (even Lambert) who are just utterly bonkers in their own special way.

“Guys stop being like parents and watch the show. It’s almost over.”

The group quiets down but not without Yennefer insisting she and Geralt are going to have a firm talk with Ciri tomorrow about the birds and the bees (Ciri just rolls her eyes).

The episode nears its conclusion, with Dandelion in his office looking over a new case that is full of dead ends. He mutters something about there having to be more, when his boss comes in and throws down a file about a new vigilante called the white wolf, recognized by the medallion that hangs around their neck. Dandelion mentions nothing about meeting the man, only that he’ll keep an eye out.

The premiere ends with him looking at the golden eyes, wondering just who this figure is.

“You know, I’m kinda into it. It’s not my usual choice of show to watch, but I’ll admit, it’s got me hooked.”

“Really Yennefer? I’ll admit I’m a tad surprised. I thought you’d give a scathing review.”

“What? Yes it’s a little cliché but it’s still enjoyable. The mystery, the characters, the plot. Everything ties in together well.”

“Thank you. Triss?”

“I love it. I’m really excited to see where they take this whole white wolf thing.”

“Eskel?”

“It’s not bad. I thought it was good.”

“Lambert?”

“It’s alright.”

“Liar. You were humming along to Dandelion’s song.” Ciri smirks.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were a musician yourself Lambert.”

“Fuck off.”

Jaskier laughs, looking over to Ciri. “And you princess?”

“Oh my god I LOVED it. Like, I know you and the white wolf character are going to hook up which I’m super stoked for, but like the whole whodunit is pretty cool too.”

The actor nods in gratitude. “Vesemir?”

The old witcher is asleep in his chair, leaving the entire group to silently laugh. “Well, I think we all know he really liked it.” Yennefer snorts.

“Well, either way I’m glad everyone’s giving it such positive reviews. Here’s to hoping the numbers agree.”

“Geralt, take your worrywart to bed. He’s making me depressed.”

The witcher follows the instruction, shooting the sorceress a look. Jaskier however doesn’t care about giving a retort, too focused on his phone awaiting a text from Essi about the views.

They’re in the hall alone when the witcher speaks. “You never asked what I thought.”

“Hm?” Fuck why isn’t Essi responding fast enough. Jaskier’s about to send off another text when his phone is snatched.

“Hey!”

“You need to relax. You can check the numbers tomorrow.”

“But Geralt I won’t sleep if I don’t know.

A soothing feeling washes over him, which makes the actor release a deep breath. Geralt brings him into his arms and Jaskier buries his face in his favourite spot. “You know what I liked? I like that you enjoyed working on the show, that your character is authentic and real. I like that you used me as an inspiration for such a monumental arc in your show, one that hasn’t been done before. I like that we were able to watch you and support you together. As a family.”

Jaskier fucking melts. His witcher may not be someone who speaks a lot, but when he does it is always worth waiting in the silence.

“You are far too good to me.” He kisses his white wolf’s lips.

“Let’s sleep. You can check tomorrow.”

“You know, I don’t think I need to know anymore. You all loving it is enough.”

Geralt just raises an eyebrow. Jaskier snorts. “Oh gods. I tried but it sounds completely ridiculous even in my own ears. I am thrilled you all liked it. But yes, the extra validation from my fans will do wonders.”

Jaskier grins shamelessly, giving his partner a quick peck before heading off to bed.

He can’t wait for tomorrow.

 

 


 

 

Geralt’s awoken to an excited yelp and his mate shaking him furiously. “Geralt, Geralt, Geralt.

“Hm?”

“The reviews are in!”

He slowly raises himself up. “And?” Fuck he is tired. But Jaskier’s bouncing on his knees, their bond feeling like a fresh cup of coffee on an early morning (which he could go for right now) and grinning like a madman.

“They love it. Oh gods they really, really love it. Essi’s saying that the numbers are the highest they’ve ever been, and they keep climbing! Oooo we aren’t going to get cancelled!”

Geralt goes and wraps his arms around Jaskier’s waist, kissing his shoulder before nuzzling his neck.

“Alright. Round of celebratory sex? Because I am feeling very accomplished.”

Geralt snorts. Vain man. But he welcomes his mate’s kiss, allowing him to push him onto the bed while trying not to laugh as Jaskier struggles with his shirt.

“Gods, I love your pajamas but why must you wear so many articles of clothing to bed?”

“You’re wearing silk.”

“Silk breathes my dearheart. Now, off.

“Hey.” Geralt pauses their foreplay, takes Jaskier’s face in his hands and kisses him lightly. “Congrats on a successful premiere.”

Jaskier melts under his touch, those cornflower blues going sweeter by the second. “You are the most wondrous.”

Geralt doesn’t think that’s entirely true, as Jaskier is the one who is the most wondrous, but he’ll take the compliment.

As long as Jaskier is happy, then so is he.

 

 


Outfit Inspiration: 

 

Jaskier: 

 

 

Geralt: 

 

Ciri: 

 

 

Yennefer: 

 

 

Triss: 

 

 

Eskel: 

 

 

Lambert: 

 

 

Vesemir: 

Notes:

Alright. Coda 2 is called Outdoor Sports. Here's a quick summary:

"Jaskier and Geralt decide to find some couple's activity to do that isn't killing monsters on the path. It goes about as well as you think it would."

Song rec is Dead End from the Lights X MYTH Remix EP.

Next coda up by the latest on August 31! And I'm currently working on my next Geraskier fic (which is going to be super beautiful I'm so stoked).

See y'all in a week or less!

Chapter 9: Coda 2: Outdoor Sports

Notes:

Hello everyone! Coda 2 is here for you and enjoy our boys being cute together. I liked writing this little thing.

Song rec for the coda is Outdoor Sports by Lights X MYTH. It's a bop.

Because I'm so good at sports (and own nothing) I whacked canon outta the park and got me a home run.

Enjoy lovelies!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Batshit

Coda 2: Outdoor Sports

“The score never interested me, only the game.”
― Mae West

 

 

“So, I’ve been talking with Yennefer and, on your left darling!”

Geralt grunts and ducks as a drowner swings at him in the water. He thrusts his sword forward, scrapping the side of the monster as it dives back down. “Fuck.”

Jaskier’s voices floats back through the earpiece. “Anyway, I was talking with Yennefer and did you know she and Triss go swimming? As like a couple’s thing. Apparently it’s very good for their relationship.”

“Little busy Jas.” he grits about. Fucking hell something’s trying to kill him, and all his mate can do is blabber about nothing in his ear.

Geralt takes another swing, grinning in satisfaction as his blade lands its hit. He rips it free, the drowner screeching as it collapses into the water. Fucking finally.

“You know Geralt, usually drowners don’t take you this long to kill.”

“Usually I don’t have a chatterbox blasting his voice in my ear.”

He can feel his mate puff in indignation. Fuck. He’s going to get an earful about that later. But right now he’s pissed, tired, running high on his mutagens, and really just wants to get this fucking contract over with.

“Uncalled for. You love my voice. Especially when it vibrates around your—”

Geralt shuts off his earpiece. Ah. Sweet silence.

He cuts off the head of the drowner and wraps it up, placing it on the back of Roach. The mutagens haven’t worn off yet and he can feel his skin crawling. He needs to kill something to wear off this excess energy.

“You know, hanging up on your soulmate is quite disrespectful.”

Jaskier enters into the clearing by the river, sending calming waves through their anchor bond to bring sensibility back to the witcher. He’s wearing some stupidly flashy clothing despite it being cold and dark, with monsters who like eating pretty things. Thank fuck Geralt’s already killed the drowners. “Hm.”

“Now, as I was saying before you rudely hung up on me, is that Triss and Yennefer go swimming. Together.”

Geralt has no idea where this is going, but he’s pretty sure he isn’t going to like it no matter what it is.

“Couple’s activities. Yennefer said we should try to do something like that together.”

Yeah. He definitely isn’t a fan of this idea. “We go on the Path together.”

Jaskier looks unimpressed. “The path, dearheart, is not the same thing as doing something casual and enjoyable. Killing monsters may be your idea of fun but it is definitely not mine.”

“Hm.”

“The whole point is to try and find something to do together that isn’t killing things. Something that we both like. Such as a sport. Or a game.”

“I think we’re fine Jaskier.”

“Says you. I would like to find something other than you being covered in some creature’s guts that I will have to clean off later. Not that I don’t enjoy doing that for you. It’s the only time I can get you to use proper bathing products other than your horrible two for one.” Jaskier visibly shudders which makes Geralt rolls his eyes. His mate is dramatic, which sometimes can be amusing but now, it’s just really fucking annoying.

This idea is going to end just about as well as all of Jaskier’s ideas.

Either with sex or Geralt being right. And usually it’s both.

“Don’t give me that face. You won’t be right on this.” Jaskier waggles his finger. “This will be loads of fun! Besides, you like winning in games. I’ve seen you whoop shamelessly when Lambert loses to you in Gwent. Imagine being able to beat me at a sport.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming. “That isn’t hard to do.”

Jaskier sputters. “By gods you’ve got a mouth on you today. The few times you speak and its to sass me. You mark my words Geralt, I will defeat you in a sport. Now what do you say?”

He’s going to regret this. He knows it.

“Fine.”

He just hopes that the smile it brings to Jaskier’s face is worth it.

 

 


 

 

Activity 1:

The next day finds the couple in the town at the bottom of the mountain at its community center’s tennis court, where Jaskier with his influence as an actor has reserved for them a private court. Geralt stands on his end, the racket tucked beneath his arm and tapping his rib, waiting for Jaskier to finish taking photos of himself.

“Are we going to start this?”

Patience dearheart. I just need to get this uploaded for my followers and then we can play.”

“Do you even know how to play tennis?”

Jaskier waves his hand, completely absorbed in his phone. “And send! Did you say something?”

Geralt huffs. “Tennis. Do you know how to play?”

“Oh? You mean the game of love? Of course I do. I am quite the expert as I’m sure you know.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “We’re not having sex. This was your idea. You’re committing.”

The witcher can feel Jaskier’s annoyance before he smooths it out with his usual flourish. “It’s hitting a ball with a racket. How hard can it be?”

He quirks up an eyebrow. Oh, this is going to be interesting. “Well, get ready then.” Geralt throws the ball up into the air and with a resounding smack watches it go flying over the net towards Jaskier. And, just has he thought, the actor yells and dodges it.

“You’re supposed to hit it back.”

“That thing was going to take my head off! Game of love? More like game of murder.

“So, do you forfeit then?”

Jaskier’s eyes gleam, his pride expanding between the two of them and Geralt is ready to make him eat his ego.

“You, dear sir, are going to get owned.”

“Bring it.”

 

 


 

 

Jaskier groans as he lays on his bed, ice resting on his cheek from where Geralt, the bastard, had whacked a ball right into it. His cheek is no longer its gorgeous, light, dusty pink but some ugly, horrendous, purple bruise.

So, his silent treatment to his partner is well deserved.

He’s scrolling on his laptop, looking for another activity to do that doesn’t contain flying projectiles (because they will find something that isn’t a bloodbath), when the horrible man comes in. He’s holding a frozen bag of peas, looking not the slightest bit remorseful (though his removal of the fairly melted ice and replacement with peas is quite sorrowful) and sits on the bed.

Jaskier pointedly stares at his laptop. He hears Geralt sigh, leaning on his knees and looking at him. “So, you’re just going to ignore me?”

Well. Couple’s badminton does sound lovely according to this blog. Surely birdies don’t make as hard of an impact as tennis balls right?

“Jaskier.”

He can feel Geralt attempting to coax him to speak through their bond, washing him over with empty platitudes. He lashes back with a hot streak of anger. Geralt purses his lips.

“I’m sorry the ball hit you.”

Well, an apology is something. But he sure as hell isn’t getting off that easy. He stays quiet. Geralt runs a hand down his face and then into his hair, which is still up in its ponytail from the court and Jaskier hates how attractive it makes him look. He wants to be mad right now not stimulated.

Well, he can be both, but he does not want this to end in sex. Well, not unless Geralt begs.

“I can smell your arousal you know.”

Fucking witchers and their fucking superior sense of smell. “Just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I’ll give in to my urges. I’m not an animal.” Geralt snorts.

“So you’re talking to me then?”

“You hit my face with a tennis ball making it bruise. I can’t do my job till this is healed! I have every right to be pissed!”

“I’m sorry.”

He means it and Jaskier can feel his anger sizzle out. Geralt may be a brute but he certainly wasn’t ill-intentioned. He’s just frustratingly (and magnificently) strong. And he is participating in their escapade willingly, without complaint, so, he can be forgiving.  

They just need to find something that allows Jaskier to benefit from Geralt’s athleticism without him ruining his money-maker.

“It’s fine darling. The face will heal. And your power has come in use many times.” Geralt moves the peas and kisses his cheek lightly in gratitude. Jaskier hums in delight as the peas are put back.

“You’re still searching for something for us to do then.”

“Just because tennis didn’t work out because you “forgot” about your brute strength doesn’t mean we still can't find something to do together.”

“Jas…”

“I know you think this is foolish and there isn’t any point, but I’ll be damned if Yennefer and Triss are the couple who can do things together without shedding blood. Or gods forbid Lambert and Aidan.

“All those two do is wrestle.”

We could wrestle.” Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows to his mate’s amusement.

“I’m sure wrestling would result in worse injuries for you.”

“You’re probably right. Besides, they say wrestle, but we all know it really means sex. Oh! Can we do sex?”

“No.”

“Bore.”

“Sex isn’t a sport.”

“You’re technically right, but it is a couple’s activity and it’s one we do very well.”

Geralt smirks and points at the bag of peas. “Not until that’s healed.”

“You better make up for it then, since you caused it.”

Jaskier’s grin goes roguish as Geralt moves the laptop and lowers himself down, carefully lowering the waistline of his leggings.

 If only they could do this as their activity. Then Yennefer would be eating her words.

 

 


 

 

Activity 2:

Geralt sits at the edge of the pool, watching Jaskier tread in the water. Since tennis didn’t work and wrestling was out of the question (and no, they’re still not counting sex as their thing they do as a couple no matter how much the actor insists) Jaskier decided swimming was the next course of action.

“If Yennefer and Triss can do it. So can we. But better.

“Not a competition.”

“Nonsense. Of course it is.”

So, that’s lead them back down the mountain to the community pool, where Jaskier has once again used his celebrity status to get them the entire room just to themselves. Geralt does appreciate the lack of noisiness that comes from community pools, but he’s pretty sure swimming is going to go just as well as tennis did.

“So, Triss said they usually just do laps but that seems rather boring doesn’t it?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not much else to do in a pool.”

“Really? Just going back and forth?”

“Hm.”

“There must be something more entertaining than that.”

“You haven’t even tried it.”

“Fine. Let’s just swim around likes fishes then.”

Geralt slips into the deep end, treading water to warm himself up before he glides into the small waves, arms rotating through to propel him forward. Front crawl has never been his favourite stroke, but it’s efficient.

Besides, it’s good practice for the next time he has a contract in water.

Geralt gets lost in the rhythm of the laps that he doesn’t realize Jaskier is no longer in the pool. It isn’t until he arrives at the edge for the tenth time and emerged, arms crossed on the ledge, when he realizes his mate isn’t in the water.

He scans the area, sniffing the air to get the familiar scent of sandalwood and mint. The scent comes from around the corner, so Geralt follows it. What he finds isn’t surprising in the least.

Jaskier lies on a floaty in the baby pool, asleep. Geralt rolls his eyes, silently slips into the pool and wades over. He brings his arms underneath the floaty and flips it over, tipping Jaskier into the pool with a loud splash.

He grins as the actor sputters upwards, gasping and spitting out the water he inhaled. “You utter buffoon! Now my hair is ruined.

“Thought this was supposed to be a couple’s activity.”

“Well, you were very much in the moment and I am better suited towards this pool here. But now, absolutely not. No. Swimming is out!”  

He gets out of the water, storming off to the change room and Geralt simply rolls his eyes following suit. 

Melitele help him for the rest of Jaskier's antics. 

 

 


 

 

Activity 3:

The next day finds the pair on a basketball court, Jaskier grinning as he holds a basketball. “So, Eskel suggested we try basketball and seeing as we’re the same height, you’ll have more of a challenge.”

Geralt won’t in the slightest, because he’s a witcher with supernatural abilities and Jaskier is a half-elf who only has super hearing.

“Jaskier, I’m faster than you.” He’s really done with all of this. What Geralt would like to be doing is either spending time with Ciri, sleeping in with Jaskier, or killing something.

“You may be, but basketball doesn’t really rely on speed but on height. To which you and I are evenly matched.”

“You’ve never played this sport, have you.”

“No. But I did read up on it. And watch some games. You just dribble it and throw it into the hoop.”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“Well yes, because you can block me, and I can you. Unlike in tennis, where you have to keep to one side.”

“Jaskier. This isn’t going to end well for you.”

“We shall see about that, won’t we?”

The actor tosses the ball up into the air and catches it, which does surprise Geralt because he was pretty sure he was going to drop it. Jaskier grins, knowing that Geralt didn’t think he had any skill in basketball and begins to dribble around his legs.

So, the witcher crouches, getting ready to play and begins reaching for the ball to snatch it away. Jaskier dodges, twirling away laughing like a maniac.

And proceeds to fall flat on his face.

“Ow.”

Geralt freezes, not sure whether to laugh or stay silent. He decides on the latter, holding in his chuckle as he kneels to make sure his mate is okay. He loves the man, but his coordination is shit.

“Jaskier? Are you alright?”

“Mhm. I’m peachy darling.”

“Your nose is bleeding.” Geralt sighs, getting up and grabs the first aid kit. After tennis, he learned his lesson.

Jaskier waves him off. “Just a minor casualty. It’ll stop in a few.”

While Jaskier may be content to pretend like his nose isn’t running red, Geralt isn’t. He applies first aid to the injury, tilting the actor’s head forward. “Jaskier, we don’t need to keep doing this.”

“Nonsense. We must. I won’t let them win.”

“Who?”

“The ladies. Bloody Yennefer insisted that we have nothing in common because we don’t enjoy the same things and I told her that absolutely was not true and I was going to prove it.”

“That’s why you want us to find some sort of activity?”

“Yes! Because then that witch can stuff it. We’ll be the superior couple.”

Geralt sighs. “Jas…”

“The bleeding has stopped. Clearly, anything with balls that aren’t yours is an activity to steer clear from. Back to research!”

The idiot gets up, pumps his fist in the air and walks out of the court, leaving behind a very exasperated Geralt.

 

 


 

 

Activity 4:

“This is it. I can feel it.”

Jaskier grins, hands on his hips as he stands next to his witcher on the track. Running’s never been his thing, but Vesemir likes it and he’s a wise (old) man so there must be something there.

Besides, he sings, so his lung capacity is good for running right? Right.

Geralt however, has been completely unhelpful in choosing an activity for them to do together. He’s been annoyingly silent, not offering any suggestions. In fact, the only time he has talked is to say that they don’t need to do anything special.

And before Yennefer’s offhand comment, Jaskier would’ve agreed. But by gods that woman got under his skin.

“You know, sometimes I wonder how you and Geralt ever would’ve met if it hadn’t been for the soulmate bond.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you have nothing in common. No similar interests, no activities that you do together other than training and the Path.”

“We don’t really need to.”

“I suppose not. But Triss and I go swimming together once a week, just to spend time together doing something we love.”

“Are you saying Geralt and I should find some sort of couple’s activity?”

“Can’t hurt. Might give you something to bond over other than knives.”

“I don’t like knives.”

“Exactly. If it weren’t for the soul bond, would you two ever have fallen in love?”

Meddlesome wench. He knows she was just musing, because that’s something Yennefer does, and she meant no ill intent but...

She has a point.

Geralt is a very masculine man (absolutely mouthwatering), with his hunting and killing things and Roach. Jaskier likes pretty things, dressing fancy and music. On paper, they make absolutely no sense.

Thus, Jaskier has vowed to prove her wrong. He will find something they’ll both enjoy.

So, running.

He spares a glance at Geralt who’s stretching (and if he continues Jaskier might just skip the running and go straight to the aftermath) getting ready to go. The witcher must feel the gaze on him because his eyes meet Jaskier’s, asking if he really wants to do this.

He does.

“Now my darling witcher. Shall we stride and take our time, or do you want a challenge?”

“If by challenge you mean racing, no. Let’s just take it easy.”

“That’s no fun.”

“Jas, your track record with your insistence on this has been shit.”

“Sometimes you must suffer for your passion.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “Your passion is your music. Not sports.”

“I’m allowed to try new things!”

He can feel his witcher sadden. “Not at the expense of you getting hurt.”

“If this doesn’t work, I’ll stop alright?” Jaskier softens his tone. He hates making his soulmate blue.

That seems to please Geralt because he nods in agreeance and moves into a takeoff position. Jaskier parallels his stance, excitement bubbling in his veins. “On my count. One. Two. Three!”

They take off. Geralt is, of course, faster than Jaskier but he does a spectacular job at keeping pace. He grins, focusing on his breathing to maintain consistency and not pass out.

Though, there’s a good chance the witcher isn’t running as fast as he could be and is, in fact, running slower so Jaskier doesn’t feel completely inept. He doesn’t know whether he appreciates that or hates it.

A bit of both if he’s honest.

The one thing that Jaskier does forget is his ankles. Once, when he was younger he sprained his right and it never healed properly due to poor care. His elven blood did the best it could, but his nursemaid said that his ankles would always be a little bit weaker than before.

So running with ankles that aren’t particularly sturdy? Not good. And as his right twists itself due to his foot landing wrong, he screeches in pain, falling into the dirt, clutching it and remembers exactly why he never did this in the first place.

Geralt is immediately by his side, eyes black with small veins. “Jaskier?”

“AGH. FUCK. Geralt.” he whines. The witcher picks him up slowly, holding him close to his chest to let the beat of his heart distract him from the pain. Jaskier grits his teeth, one hand clutching Geralt’s arm and the other resting over his chest to feel his heart.

He passes out.

 

 


 

 

When Jaskier comes to he’s in their bedroom on the bed. His foot is elevated and wrapped, with a pack of ice resting on top.

Well, this looks familiar.

“You’re awake.”

Geralt moves from the window, sitting himself down on the edge of the bed.

“How long have I been out?”

“An hour.”

“New record then.”

Geralt’s irked by the comment. Jaskier can feel his irritation. He sighs. “I’m sorry. I know these past few days I’ve been rather; shall we say—”

“Ridiculous?”

Jaskier huffs. “No. I was going to say childish.”

“That too.”

“I know I shouldn’t have let what Yennefer said get to me. She wasn’t even trying to be cruel! It was simply a passing comment. I just…she’s right. If it weren’t for our bond, would we be where we are now? Would we have fallen in love? We have nothing in common.”

Geralt takes his hand, stroking his knuckles. “I think that’s actually a good thing.”

“How so?”

“We didn’t fall in love because we had things in common, we fell in love because we learned the other and liked what came of it.”

“I’m not following.”

“I—Fuck. This— I just—”

Jaskier waits, letting Geralt try to find the words to say. He can be quite eloquent when he chooses to be, despite it being a difficulty for him.

“I love you, because you, you challenge me.”

Oh?

“Oh?”

“Hm.”

“Challenge you?”

“You make me want to be better. As a father, a partner, a brother, a friend. Those things, they come easily to you. And I, I learn from you. How to be those things.”

Jaskier melts. His witcher is truly the sweetest man on the continent.

“You teach me things too you know.”

“Hm?”

“Yes. You teach me to be more careful, you teach me control, and you show me how to fend for myself. I’m more self-reliant because to you.”

Geralt’s lips lift a tiny bit. Jaskier’s grow much bigger. “I suppose that for us, the differences are better than the commonalities.”

“We don’t need to do something together to be together.”

“I do like watching you and your brothers when you train.”

“And I like watching you practice your music.”

“Really? But you just sit there and read.”

“It’s soothing. And you’re happy when you play.”

“Just as you are when you get Lambert in a headlock.”

The pair share a laugh before Geralt leans over and gently kisses Jaskier. He cradles the man’s face, deepening the kiss until he winces from his injury. “Well, suppose I can’t do any strenuous activities for a bit can I?”

“Not until it’s fully healed. Triss’s orders.”

Jaskier sighs. “I really am a magnet for trouble aren’t I? Very accident prone.”

Geralt kisses him again. “I’ll always be there to take care of you when it goes south.”

“My hero.”

 

 


Outfit Inspiration: 

 

Jaskier Contract: 

 

 

Jaskier Sports: 

 

 

Jaskier Pool: 

 

Geralt Contract: 

 

 

Geralt Sports: 

 

 

Geralt Pool: 

 

Notes:

Coda 3 is titled Fight Club and your quick little summary/prompt is brought to you by an exchange between Lorelai and Rory Gilmore, slightly altered for the fandom. It is as follows:

"Geralt can waltz."

That's it. That's your tidbit for the next coda.

See you folks on September 1 (how the fuck is it September already?) or earlier.

Chapter 10: Coda 3: Fight Club

Notes:

This coda is essentially Geralt being like, super in love with Jaskier. The dork. I honestly have no idea where it came from, but she danced outta me.

I don't own anything and canon's been pretty much abandoned at this point.

Enjoy lovelies!

P.S. For the last scene I highly recommend listening to Baby It's You by London Grammar. That's the song that plays after the waltz.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Batshit

Coda 3: Fight Club

“And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon.”
― Edward Lear, The Owl and the Pussycat

 

 

The air on the training grounds echoes with grunts and groans, as three witchers dance around each other, exchanging blows and landing hits with wooden swords. This practice can go on for hours, much to Jaskier’s delight. Normally he’s alone, ogling his paramour as sweat runs through the crevices of his body or his hair glistens in the autumn sun.

This time however he has company.

“To think I used to be into this kind of thing.” Yennefer sits in the stands, drinking her wine while watching Eskel body slam Geralt to the ground.

“I don’t think I’ll ever not be into this kind of thing. Handsome men wrestling? Delicious.” Jaskier says as he admires the curve of Geralt’s bottom. 

Yennefer snorts, shaking her head into her glass. “You’re incorrigible.”

“One of my many charms.”

“Matter of opinion.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, sparing a glance to the sorceress. “I adore Triss, but can she pin you to the bed and ravish you completely? Or is that your job?”

“Oh we manage just fine.” She purrs. The actor laughs, grinning shamelessly.

“I do very much like our ability to talk about our exploits. Geralt, love the man, total prude. He never wants to rub it in the others’ faces.”

“Oh he is isn’t he? Everything has to stay in the bedroom.  Or at least away from prying eyes. The moment someone else appears or says anything, you’re done.”  

“Now, exhibitionism I understand. No need for an audience if they’re not joining in. But yes, he won’t even talk about it openly. Which, is fine, but…”

“You’re brazen and have no filter.”

Jaskier’s grin is wicked. “Indeed my darling witch. You know, Priscilla and I, on nights after touring to promote the show, we would get wonderfully drunk and gossip about our co-workers. We’d muse about what we thought everyone was like. Essi joined us a few times, gave some excellent tips, she’s a total fireball which you wouldn’t think when meeting her but by gods she knows her way around.”

“Jaskier. You’re rambling.”

“Hm. Sorry.”

Oh god. You’re starting to sound just like him.”

“Am I? Must be rubbing off on me. In all the right ways.” He winks.

Yennefer chuckles. “You really are hopeless.”

“You say hopeless, I say endearing.”

“Again, matter of opinion.”

“Good thing everything is relative anyway.”

Silence comes forth, twirling between the pair as they sit and watch the witchers continue to fight one another. Geralt seems to have the upper hand over Lambert (no surprise) but with Eskel there’s always a bit more of a challenge. Vesemir watches all of them like a hawk, shouting when they slip or fixing their stances.

“They really are like a fight club, aren’t they?”

Jaskier barely hears her, to engrossed with the way Geralt’s hair flies as he spins. She snaps her fingers in front of his face. “Hm?”

“Stop gawking for five seconds. You see him everyday.”

“Yes, but I don’t get to watch him fight everyday. And my dear it really is a sight to behold.”

“Whatever.”

“But a fight club? I guess.”

“Think about it. They never talk about anything and they’re always jabbing one another. Whether with swords or words. It’s the whole, what happens in fight club stays in fight club.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No. Sorceresses don’t get drunk.”

Jaskier snorts. “Right and at Eskel’s party you weren’t singing My Heart Will Go On absolutely hammered to Triss?”

Yennefer gives him the finger.

“Eloquent.”

“Very.”

The witchers seem to be wrapping up their practice, the bodies slowing down and listening to Vesemir’s notes about their performance. Jaskier stretches his legs forward, rotating his ankles so they don’t give out on him (like last time). Triss makes her way over to them as she stuffs her medical equipment into her satchel. She pecks Yennefer before sitting down beside her.

“They were in fine form today weren’t they?”

“If rolling around like animals is considered to be that, then yes.”

“Yen, they aren’t that bad.”

“Beg to differ.”

“Jas, what did you think?”

“Oh. I always enjoy watching their sessions. Half-naked men with their muscles flexing? Gods what a show.”

Triss laughs. “Yeah, I can see how you’d like that.”

He feels a pleasant hum from Geralt, who’s begun to make his way over to their little group. His brothers follow behind, and Vesemir stays on the field packing up the equipment.

“You know, I do wonder sometimes if they do anything other than the Path. I mean, I know that’s their life’s work but it’s so bleak! After living through different centuries, you would think they’d have found new hobbies other than stabbing things.”

Yennefer shrugs. “We did do things outside of the Path. It’s dwindled over the years. Monsters change and evolve to survive as we all did.”

“Any good stories? Mentionables? Things that you lot did that were completely uncharacteristic?”

“Well, there is one thing I can think of that you’ll really enjoy Jas.”

“Tell me Triss. Tell me everything.”

 “Yen, remember when we visited the Pemberley estate?”

The sorceress gasps. “Oh. I think I know where you’re going with this. Yes, I remember that night very well.”

“Tell me.”

Triss continues. “The Pemberley Estate was a massive manor during the 1800s. They held balls and parties where everyone in attendance got all dressed up and danced the night away.”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “Wait…are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Well, we had to fit in, so yes. Yennefer and I know how to waltz. And so do the witchers.”

“Geralt can waltz?!”

“Geralt can waltz.”

Jaskier’s mouth drops. What? How? How did he not know this? Well, he very much knows why he doesn’t, because Geralt is never forthcoming with personal information unless it’s to answer a direct question, but how was Jaskier to know to ask about this?

“Why is Jaskier in shock?” said witcher arrives, settling down beside him. He rubs the actor’s back.

“He just found out about Pemberley.”

Geralt’s movement stops. “What?”

“You can waltz?” Jaskier wheezes out.

“Uh…”

“Triss, we stunned both of them speechless.” The women high-five.

Jaskier puts his hands together, an idea beginning to form. “You know what this means yes? We are having a party. And we are going to waltz!”

Jaskier feels immense dread in his partner. Yennefer’s eyebrows go up in amusement, Triss bites back a grin.

“Yes! It’ll be perfect! Ciri can learn because then that way she can scare away the plebeians when she begins dating (reason to convince Geralt), Lambert can bring Aidan and woo him (reason to convince Lambert). God knows the man could use a good wooing. Eskel can, I don’t know, DJ or something (that one needs some work). And we get a very romantic night! Geralt, darling, what do you say?”

Geralt seems to shake out of whatever stupor he’s in. He takes in the words, processes them, and then speaks. “Do you even know how to waltz?”

Jaskier frowns. “Ah. Well, no. I know the basics. Sort of.” He deflates. “I suppose that throws a bit of a wrench into that idea doesn’t it.”

“I can teach you.”

Jaskier looks to Yennefer, lighting up. “Really?”

She shrugs. “It’s not a hard dance to learn. I’ll teach you and Ciri while Geralt can brush up with his brothers.”

Cornflower blues turn to the witcher, begging. Please oh please let the man agree.

“Fine.”

Jaskier kisses him enthusiastically to the gagging of Yennefer. He gives her the finger which she flicks. When he pulls away for air, Jaskier looks at the group, over the moon for the party.

Until Geralt ruins it.

“You still have to get everyone else on board.”

“Fuck.”

 

 


 

 

Dinner is a casual affair but Jaskier’s nerves are all over the place. He spent the remainder of the afternoon trying to figure out how to get the other witchers into having a dance. Ciri he knows will agree because she loves a good party as much as him. But as for Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir…

That’s a whole other thing.

The actor is confident if he wields his Aiden card, Lambert will cave. The man is utterly smitten. It’s extremely adorable. As for Vesemir, well, it won’t be quiet in the keep but it might be nice to watch his sons have fun. Maybe. That idea still needs some tweaking if he’s going to get the elder on his side. Eskel’s relatively good natured, so he’ll put up the least fuss. Having him going solo though is incredibly depressing and having him simply DJ seems unfair.

If only he could find a girl for him. Maybe Priscilla? She’s been a little lonely lately. A dance is as good as any to matchmake.

“Son, are you alright? You’ve been rather quiet this evening.”

Vesemir’s face shows concern causing Jaskier to smile sheepishly. He may have gotten a little caught up in his planning that he forgot to be his usual self. Not point in prolonging this anymore then. “Well, I have a proposition for you all.”

The table turns their attention to him.

“It has recently come to my attention, that the four of you, know how to waltz.”

Lambert’s face drains of colour, Vesemir tilts his head and Eskel leans forward. Geralt meanwhile attempts to avoid eye contact with his brothers.

“Wait…all of you can waltz?” Ciri’s own gasp rivals Jaskier’s earlier one.

“I know! That’s what I said! Anyway, because dancing is something you can all do, and as long as I’ve been here at Kaer Morhen we’ve never actually done anything exciting of this caliber, I suggest we have a little party. Just us. And dance the night away!”

Never has Jaskier seen this many unimpressed faces. And he’s an entertainer for a living.

“It’s not that bad of an idea.”

“Fuck no.”

Well. Lambert’s response isn’t surprising.

“I don’t know Jaskier. We haven’t done that in a long time. It was more of a means of survival anyway.” Eskel says, rubbing his chin.

Of course it was. Stupid witchers. They never do anything simply for fun. Jaskier sighs. “Vesemir?”

The elder shrugs. “It could be a good idea. I would not mind having of night of dancing.”

That dazes Jaskier. He didn’t think Vesemir would agree so easily. But hot damn. He did.

“Well, in response to you Eskel, what if I brought someone for you?”

That piques the interest of the witcher. “You want to set me up?”

“Well, Lambert has Aidan, who loves the idea by the way and very much wants it to happen.”

“Hasn’t said anything to me.”

Jaskier shrugs. “Well, I’m sure he’ll mention it the next time you see him. Triss and Yennefer have each other, I have Geralt. You also should have someone. And I do know an individual who would like to settle down. I can’t think of anyone kinder to set her up with.”

Eskel takes that in, mulling it over. “Alright. I’m in.”

“Excellent! Lambert?”

The younger witcher crosses his arms. “I don’t like it.”

“Of course you don’t. But you aren’t doing this for you, you’re doing this for Aiden. When was the last time you wooed him? Hm? Imagine how flattered he’ll be seeing you, standing there in a tux—”

“We have to wear a tux?

“Shush. Let me finish. Yes. You. Wearing a tux in candlelight and you come, sweep Aiden into your arms and the two of you glide around the room, basking in each other. It’s incredibly romantic and you know he loves that kind of thing.”

“Fucking hell fine.

Ciri claps her hands. “Yay! This is so exciting. But. Wait. Jaskier, I don’t know how to dance.”

“Worry not princess. I’ve got that sorted. Your mum will be teaching us. Geralt’s going to help the boys. Right dearest?”

The witcher pauses the fork halfway to his mouth, slowly lowering it once he realizes all eyes are on him. “I guess?”

“Should’ve know this idiot roped you into this. Dude’s got you wrapped around his finger.” mutters Lambert.

“Fuck off Lambert.”

“Well,” Jaskier smiles at the table, “this is going to be absolutely brilliant.

 

 


 

 

“Sorry Jaskier!” Ciri winces as she once again steps on the man’s toe. Jaskier, ever the gentleman, grimaces but doesn’t say anything unkind.

“It’s alright princess. It’s a learning curve.”

“Like the guitar?”

“Indeed.”

The pair continue to move around the room, with a few more trips and giggles as they try to get a handle on gliding smoothly and effortlessly.

“Jaskier, for someone whose coordination is terrible, you’re surprisingly good at this.” Yennefer states as she circles the pair, watching their movements.

“Well, I was raised in an aristocratic household. I skipped many of my lessons which is why I have absolutely no idea how to lead but I did learn enough to not look incompetent. Plus, my mother had a little charm handy for when I was on the floor.”

Yennefer snorts. “That sounds about right. Well, I guess for you, Geralt will be leading so here. Ciri, pass him to me.”  

The girl spins him to Yennefer. He lands with an oomph into her arms broadening his smile to dazzle. The witch sets his arms into their spots, places her own hand in his. “Follow my lead.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Dancing with Yennefer is not what Jaskier was expecting. While as a woman, she is quite the figure, her daunting presence and sheer magnitude of dominance makes it difficult to step where she steps.

That, and she’s much shorter than him so he keeps stepping on her petite feet.

“Jaskier. You need to let me lead you not clonk around like a giant.”

“I’m sorry it’s just that you cut quite the figure but you’re remarkably little. Which is fine! It’s just, when I danced with smaller figures, I usually led.”

“But you won’t be this time.”

“No. I won’t.” Thank god. Jaskier is beyond the moon to have his witcher glide him across the keep’s floor.

“Well focus. This isn’t going to happen if you can’t learn it.”

“Shall I stare into your eyes and get whisked away?”

“No.”

“Fair enough.”

The pair try again.

 

 


 

 

Geralt’s lesson is going much easier, partially because both Lambert and Eskel remember how to dance, but also because they aren’t fooling around. Which is genuinely surprising as Geralt was pretty sure Lambert was going to be an ass about it.

“So, you just going along with this then?” Lambert sips his water while staring down Geralt.

“Hm.”

“You just kinda let Jaskier do anything?”

“No.”

“Dude, you’re letting him throw a party with fucking dancing and not complaining. You do realize you can’t just stand in the corner and brood all night right? Like you did at Pemberley? You do actually have to dance.”

“Relax Lambert. He’s doing it for Jaskier because he loves him. You do stuff for Aiden all the time that’s out of your comfort zone.” Eskel walks over wiping down his brow.

“Not shit like this.”

Eskel shakes his head. “Jaskier’s right then. Aiden does need some more romancing from you.”

“Fuck you. We’re doing fine. Besides, with lovey dovey over here no one can compete. These two lovesick fools are disgustingly mushy.”

Geralt snorts.

“What you don’t think that’s true? You let Jaskier drag you to multiple activities, you sit in the music room and watch him play with this dopey look on your face, he reeks of horniness every time you train and you pretty much let the guy run rampant in the keep and don’t call him out.”

“I don’t think that’s true. Jaskier does get up to some shenanigans but he’s not as bad as when he first came here.”

“Thanks Eskel.”

“I fucking disagree but you fuckers aren’t going to be on my side so whatever.”

Eskel and Geralt share a look, shrugging. What can you do when Lambert gets into one of his snits?

So the trio sit in silence, drinking their water and resting. “Geralt?”

“Yeah Eskel?”

“Do you know anything about this girl Jaskier’s introducing me to? Priscilla?”

The name sounds familiar as it rolls in the witcher’s head. His brow furrows, recalling meeting a blonde in bright colours. “I think she’s one of Jaskier’s co-workers.”

“Who does she play?”

“The sister?”

Eskel nods. “She’s cute. That eases my worry a bit. Wasn’t sure what to expect.”

“Jaskier wouldn’t pair you with someone he didn’t think you weren’t suited for.”

“You’re right. He’s one of the good ones.”

Both cast a side glance to Lambert, whose got a small smile on his face as he looks at his phone. Must be texting Aiden.

“He may be a jackass, but he has a point. Jaskier’s expecting you to dance with him. You can’t just play wallflower.”

“I know. I won’t be.”

“He really has been good for you.”

“Hm?”

“Look, before Jaskier you were a moody grump. You barely socialized with anyone, grunting was your primary form of communication, but I think the most significant thing is how you handled the Path. For you it was means to an end but now, with Jaskier, it’s still your job. But it isn’t you life.”

Geralt looks at his brother, whose smile is genuinely kind. “Hm.”

Eskel laughs. “The grumbling you still need to work on. But, he has changed you. For the better. So, make sure he enjoys this night. Because he deserves it.”

Eskel gets up and scratches the back of his head. “I’ll go get ready. Lambert, c’mon. It’ll take you hours to get dolled up for Aiden.”

“Fuck you.”

“If you’re usual clothes didn’t make you look like the inside of a trashcan, I wouldn’t need to say that.”

Lambert raises his middle finger as he gets up and leaves the room with Eskel. Geralt rubs his chest, with Eskel’s words traipsing in his head. He closes his eyes to focus on his connection to Jaskier.

He’s immediately surrounded by the sun’s gentle warmth, coating his face during a cold morning. The scent of sandalwood and mint is faint around him, but he knows that if he follows it, it will get stronger along with the warmth.

But he doesn’t go to Jaskier but to their bedroom, figuring the man is probably still practicing his waltzing (which sends a thrill down Geralt’s spine, so he kinda gets why Jaskier wanted to do this)

He wants the night for him to be special. For it to be exactly what his actor wants. Because Eskel is right. Jaskier has changed him for the better.

And while maybe Lambert has a point too, Geralt isn’t phased by it. Jaskier deserves to be a little rambunctious with his shenanigans (as long as they don’t hurt others or him) because the intention is always good.

He just wants what’s best for everyone. And Geralt wants what’s best for him.

The musings take up enough time to get the witcher to his room. Jaskier must’ve have been here recently because the hallway hangs his smell heavily. A deep inhales settles Geralt further as he enters, and he notices something laid out on their bed.

It’s a suit. One that Geralt has never seen and is confident he does not own.

There’s a note on top of it, with loops and swirls which definitely make it Jaskier’s handwriting.

Bought this for you. I adore your leather but it’s not suitable 😉 for our party. And seeing as your other suits are rather old and unkempt, this one shall do. You’re going to look absolutely dashing my white wolf. As for me, I’m getting ready with the ladies. Oh! Wait till you see Ciri. She’ll be beautiful.

Thank you for going along with this. I know it isn’t your cup of tea, but like you said, our differences are what make us wonderful.

See you soon dearheart.

- Jaskier

Geralt’s lips quirk up.

Jaskier is truly one of a kind. And Geralt is very grateful to have him as his soulmate.

 

 


 

 

The dining room has the tables and chairs pushed to the side. Speakers are set up in the corners with an aux cord where Jaskier’s phone is plugged in. The decorations are pinned up and have turned the place into a dazzling dancefloor.

Being a celebrity certainly has its perks.

“Jaskier!” Ciri shouts as she runs into the room, her dress bouncing with each step she takes. “It looks amazing!”

“Thank you princess. Yes, for a small gathering it is quite something isn’t it?”

“When do we start?”

“Ten minutes. Triss is grabbing Priscilla.”

“I’m kinda shocked at how fast you got this all together.”

Jaskier shrugs. “I’ve thrown many parties in my time. Besides, it’s mainly just us and we’ve got nothing planned. Aidan and Priscilla were beyond excited to do something other than their jobs so, everyone made sure they were free.”

“Two days is hecka short.”

“I once planned and threw a party the day I announced I would.”

“Really? That sounds like a total headache.”

“Oh! Absolutely. But it was also one of the most entertaining too.”

“Nice!” The pair high five. “Dad’s going to enjoy you in that.”

“You think? I realize lace isn’t the usual man’s fabric but—”

“Jas, it’s fine. You’re so nervous!”

“Yes well. I just want everything to go perfectly.”

“It will. Hey Triss! Hey Mom! Is that Priscilla?”

The ladies enter the room, the lights making them sparkle. Priscilla is beside them, gasping as she looks around the room. When she sees Jaskier she squeals, runs to him and hugs him.

“Jaskier! This place is amazing!”

“Thank you darling. This is Ciri. Ciri, Priscilla. And Prie I do believe you’ve met Triss and Yennefer.”

“Yeah. Total gems.”

“Excellent. Well, the ladies are punctual. The men are late.”

“Dad says they’re on their way.”

“Good. I’ll start the music then.”

He scrolls through his phone, tapping The Waltz of the Flowers by the London Symphony Orchestra (waltz was in the title so it must be suited). The music whirls to life, overtaking the whole room.

Triss leans into Yennefer as she listens, eyes falling shut and her mouth spreading into a grin. “Oh I do feel like we’ve gone back to Pemberley.”

Yennefer smiles, pulling the redhead into her arms by placing one hand on her shoulder and the other with her own. “Shall we?”

Absolutely.”

The pair begins to move across the floor. Jaskier watches them in awe, for they glide serenely and gracefully, as if they are nothing more than leaves dancing on the wind. “They’re so good.” whispers Ciri, whose eyes are wide.

“They truly are.”

“Wow.” mutters Priscilla. “Thank fuck I watched some dance tutorials before this. Otherwise I’d be falling flat on my face.”

“Weren’t you a ballerina before you went into acting?”

“Yes. But that’s not the same thing as ballroom.”

Jaskier shrugs right as the doors open and the witchers walk in. He gulps, taking in his soulmate who is enchanting in the suit. The actor knew he’d look spectacular in it.

“You guys are finally here! Aren’t mom and Triss good? They’re so good!”

Geralt chuckles as he reaches them, wrapping one arm around Jaskier while giving a quick appraisal. “You look good.” He murmurs right into his ear.

Jaskier shivers. “You look delectable.”

The witcher hums, his lips twitching. But before Jaskier can make a comment, Lambert (the bastard) interrupts.

“Place looks good.”

“Thank you. Though it was never in doubt.”

“Was a little bit.”

Jaskier’s eyes narrow. “How about you take Aiden for a spin hm? Rather than concentrating on me.”

“You just don’t want to banter cause you’ll lose. But fine. Aiden! Wanna dance?”

The cat witcher nods, grabbing Lambert’s hand and dragging him to join in spinning around the floor with the women.

“He’s so…so…

“Don’t let him ruin this. Besides, Aiden will keep him in check.” Geralt kisses his hair.

“Fine. Eskel! This is Priscilla. Priscilla, this is Eskel.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Eskel shakes Priscilla’s hand. She smiles demurely. “Likewise.”

“Would you like to dance?”

“I would. Very much so.”

Eskel takes her hand and leads her to the floor. The pair stumble a bit, both awkwardly laughing but soon find their rhythm. Jaskier’s frown turns upside down.

“Look Geralt! Soon, there will be wedding bells. I can feel it.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. Classic witcher. He really doesn’t do romance outside of the two of them. Ah well. C’est la vie. Besides, there are more important things to enjoy right now. Like how everyone is dressed up.

“Now, Geralt. Doesn’t Ciri look beautiful?”

His witcher looks at his daughter, a soft smile on his face. “You do.”

Ciri scrunches her nose. “Thanks? I’m going to find Vesemir. You two have fun!”

She leaves quickly and Jaskier feels Geralt’s apprehension. He strokes his chest.

“Teenagers darling. You’ll never understand them.”  

“Hm.”

“Can we—would you like to, um, dance? Yennefer’s taught me how to follow.”

Golden eyes turn to him and their intensity makes him breathless. Wordlessly, Geralt takes his hand and brings him to the floor. Jaskier places his left hand on the shoulder and his right with Geralt’s.

“Ready?” the witcher murmurs. Jaskier silently nods.

They waltz.

And Oh.

My.

God.

Jaskier, he’s never sashayed so smoothly before, never felt lighter on his feet or felt this free. And Geralt.

The man leads the way he fights. With grace, dignity, and a keen sense of where to go. They never hit another couple, never trip, or stumble. They simply glide. Jaskier can feel Geralt's contentment, can feel his adoration about being able to share this with him. This part that he’s hidden and kept tucked away for so long.

So Jaskier responds with gratitude. A gentle caress and tender kiss. Geralt slows them down, his eyes full of a wonderous devotion.

“I know my love. I know.”

Geralt preens under the endearment, kissing him soundly as the lights swing around the floor, painting it in neon colours. The song ends and goes to another track, one with a chill beat.

“Jaskier!” Ciri shouts as she runs over. She grabs his hand and Geralt’s tugging them to where the group seems to have gathered.

“Come on! Let’s party!”

Her smile is infectious and soon she, Priscilla, Jaskier and Triss are jumping around, spinning underneath the lights. Triss manages to get Yennefer to join, Ciri pulls in Vesemir and Aiden. When Aiden goes, Lambert follows. Eskel adds himself when Priscilla sends him a wink.

But Jaskier, with one final twirl, walks to Geralt, takes both of his hands, and spins him. It’s awkward due to Geralt’s size but the pair share a smile and the witcher joins into the fray.

Jaskier, as he laughs and feels Geralt’s happiness, basks in this moment. The witchers may be barbaric sometimes, but they marvel Jaskier with what they’ve seen and done. He adores them to bits.

And he knows how lucky he is to have Geralt, who supports his ideas, even when they blow up in his face. Thankfully, this one hasn’t, and Jaskier’s heart grows tremendously with his family.

Because that’s who this group of crazy folks are.

His family.

Or, as Yennefer drunkenly (she was definitely smashed) said.

His fight club.

 

 


Outfit Inspiration

Party Edition: 

 

Jaskier: 

Geralt: 

Yennefer: 

Triss: 

Ciri: 

Lambert: 

Eskel: 

Aiden: 

Priscilla:  

Notes:

As always, outfit inspiration. May you enjoy burly men in suits and ladies looking fabulous.

Next coda is titled Almost Had Me and the synopsis is:

"Yennefer asks Jaskier to help her propose to Triss."

This one's going to be fun y'all.

See you folks on September 3 or earlier!

Chapter 11: Coda 4: Almost Had Me

Notes:

Hello my friends! Here is Coda 4. Only three more to go after this!

I own nothing as per usual.

Enjoy lovelies! And the song for proposal 3 is Mind Over Matter by Anthony Ramos. That song is hot my friends. I highly recommend.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Batshit

Coda 4: Almost Had Me

“Men. And their no-good, fool-headed proposals.”
― Rae Carson, Walk on Earth a Stranger

 

 

The day is like any other for Jaskier and Geralt. The couple are in the music room, with Jaskier strumming his guitar and composing while Geralt lounges on the couch, reading a bestiary.

The pair aren’t expecting anyone, just enjoying the presence of one another as they do their own thing. It’s always a blissful environment when they share this space for it’s relatively quiet, Jaskier’s music being the only sound that lulls them both into their own meditative states.

That is, until someone rudely interrupts them by slamming the doors open.

“Jaskier.”

The beautiful atmosphere is crashed by Yennefer (because of course it is). She’s more paranoid than normal, glancing back outside checking the hall before closing the door and locking it.

Both Jaskier and Geralt exchange a look before staring at the sorceress concerned (and is she shaking?).

“Yennefer? What’s wrong?”

She huffs and sits down in the chair across from the actor. “I need your help.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows go up. Yennefer never asks him for help. In fact, she often makes a pointed reason not to. Therefore, this certainly isn’t an opportunity to miss.

“Of course! What do you need?”

“You’re a romantic.”

“Yes. What of it?”

“I want to propose to Triss.”

Jaskier’s cornflowers widen, his mouth gasps and his claps his hands, beyond thrilled that Yennefer came to him for this. Oh there are so many ideas already forming in his mind.

Geralt however, shakes his head. Jaskier catches it from the corner of his eye and glares. “Why are you shaking your head? This is the perfect thing I can help with! Romance, surprises, wooing. It’s my forte. Yennefer, my dear, I would be delighted to help you plan the perfect proposal.”

“Good.”

Geralt gets up off of the couch, stretches his limbs (Jaskier ogles the way his muscles ripple when he does) . “Triss doesn’t need anything big Yen.”

“Of course she does Geralt! She needs a whole show of devotion! The woman deserves a full string orchestra serenading her as she walks down an aisle of rose petals towards a ring that’s at least five to ten carats.”

Geralt sighs. “Just don’t do anything that endangers anyone.” He kisses the top of Jaskier’s head and leaves the room. The actor rolls his eyes, knowing that the man is being an utter buffoon by not trusting Jaskier’s romantical whims. He’s good at this!

“Ignore him. Now, what ideas do you have so far? What are you thinking? And then take that, throw it away and we’ll try my way hm?”

Yennefer looks at him incredulously. “I’m with Geralt. Triss doesn’t isn’t going to want anything flashy or ludicrous like you would.”

The actor scoffs. “You say ludicrous, I say spectacular. And siding with Geralt? On romance? Really, you want to go with the man who gave me a dagger as our first gift?”

“I thought you liked it?”

“Oh I absolutely do. But you’ll give the same thing to Triss as a gesture and she’ll think you’ve grown two heads. Or three. Perhaps a fourth. Not the point. The point is Geralt knows absolutely nothing about this and I do it for a living. You’ve heard my earlier albums; you know I’m a romantic at heart.”

Yennefer looks like she’s about to refute but instead grumbles her agreeance. Jaskier is annoyingly good at making others feel enchanted.

“Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

“Excellent. Now, here’s what I propose.”

 

 


 

 

Proposal 1:

“Jaskier, why am I being led blindfolded somewhere outdoors?”

The musician hums, leading Triss into a large open field where Yennefer stands in a hot air balloon, her chaos thick in the air as she keeps pumping fuel.

“No particular reason.”

Triss snorts. “You saying that means there definitely is one. You’re not planning on murdering me right?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “If I wanted to kill you I’d do it without all the blood. I hate making a mess.”

The pair laugh as they get to the balloon. Jaskier removes the blindfold, bouncing on his toes as Triss gasps. “Yen?”

“Thought we could use a little romantic adventure.”

“I…wow. This is something.”

 “Go on Triss, live a little.”

She shoots him a glare as she takes Yennefer’s hand and places it into the balloon. The rope tying them together is cut off and they begin to ascend, with Jaskier grinning broadly.

Oh Triss is going to be over the moon.

What an absolutely brilliant idea.

 

 


 

 

As Yennefer woos Triss (and will most definitely end with a ring upon the redhead’s finger), Jaskier feels particularly inspired, so he travels back to the keep, to the music room, where he picks up his guitar and begins playing one of his old love songs from his time with the Countess.

“I’ve never heard that one before.”

He’s not even surprised Geralt has found his way to where Jaskier is. They’ve been together for a while now and finding the other is as easy as breathing. Besides, with Geralt being a witcher, he can smell Jaskier the moment he returns to Kaer Morhen and discover him in a heartbeat.

It’s quite flattering.

“Didn’t take you long to find me.”

“Never does.”

The witcher walks in, sitting in his usual spot, the chair by the fire. Rather than stare into the flames, Jaskier sees him keep his golden sunrise on him.

“Do you need something dearheart?”

“Yen proposing now?”

“Yes! Oh Geralt it’s wonderful. We got a hot air balloon, so when they’re high in the sky, Yennefer will get down onto one knee and propose! The sun will be shining, they’ll be amongst the clouds. And the basket is filled with roses and they have a bottle of champagne so they can toast to their upcoming nuptials.”

Geralt frowns. “Jaskier, didn’t you check the weather before doing this?”

The actor eyes go wide, scrambling for his phone and opening the weather app. “Oh dear.”

The doors to the music room slam open, with Yennefer huffing and completely drenched. She looks downright pissed. Jaskier swallows his fear down.

“Yennefer! Darling! We may have miscalculated.”

“May have?” she seethes.

“Ah. Yes. Turns out it’s raining today.”

“More like a fucking torrent.

“Right. Well. Technicality.”

“Jaskier—”

“Plan one didn’t quite go according to plan but never fear! I have another proposal ready to go.”

The sorceress heaves, water dripping onto the floor as she stares daggers. “No hot air balloons.”

“Of course not. This one shall be on the ground my dear.”

Yennefer nods, leaving and slamming the doors behind her. Jaskier stares at the puddle on the ground, sighing and puts away his guitar. He brings out a notebook, flips the pages to one listed “Proposals” and crosses out option one.

“Jaskier.”

“Yes dearheart?”

“You should just plan something simple. Easy.”

“Whatever you say dearheart.”

He barely hears Geralt sigh, too caught up in making sure the next proposal goes off without a hitch.

 

 


 

 

Proposal 2:

“This one is a classic Yennefer. We’ve got the chef prepping Triss’s favourite meal, a small string quartet will be serenading everyone throughout the evening, and the ring will be in the cake. So you just need to signal to one of the waitstaff when you’re ready for dessert. They’ll bring it out, Triss will go to take a bite and voila! Ring reveal and you down on one knee.”

“Seems simple enough.”

“Precisely. There is little room for error in this so I’m confident it will go smoothly.”

The pair pause, looking over at one another. “Did you just—”

“I did no such thing!” Jaskier lets out a nervous chuckle. “That’s an old wives tale anywho. Now, I shall skedaddle as Triss should be here any moment with Geralt.”

Yennefer nods, checking her reflection one more time. Satisfied with her appearance, she puts the mirror away and waits. Jaskier meanwhile scampers off, exiting the restaurant out the back. He spots people walking in, but they aren’t the pair he’s looking for.

The restaurant will fill up quickly, being a popular spot for couples in the evening with it’s romantic atmosphere and quaintness. Originally, Jaskier had wanted the place empty but Yennefer insisted that Triss would be less suspicious if it was full. A fair point, much to Jaskier’s annoyance.

So now he waits in his little hiding spot to wait for the pair so he can give the sorceress a heads up.

Finally, he spots two heads, one with ginger hair and the other long white locks. Wonderful. He shoots a quick text to Yennefer that they’ve arrived and a good luck to accompany it. Not that she needs it of course. There is absolutely no reason why Triss would say no.

Geralt obviously can sense him nearby, as the witcher’s eyes scan the area until they fall on him poking his head out from around the corner. A brief eyeroll follows and Jaskier sends his irritation through their bond. The smirk on Geralt’s lips is not flattering in the slightest (it only grows as Geralt sense’s Jaskier’s lust following which only makes the actor more irritated. It’s a vicious cycle).

Geralt pats Triss’s shoulder as she enters in, arms crossing to watch her go before he makes his way over to Jaskier.

“Hello my darling.”

“Is this one going to go to shit like last time?”

“Of course not! This one is foolproof. It’s a classic and the classics always work.”

Geralt snorts. Jaskier grabs his wrist, dragging him to a window where Yennefer and Triss are in direct view.

“We’re just going to spend the next hour watching them eat?”

“No. Well, yes. I want to see Triss’s face as she lights up in utter happiness.”

“Hm.”

The dinner passes by smoothly, with no blips (thank god. Jaskier was worried he had jinxed it). Triss and Yennefer seem to be having a good time, exchanging laughs and the conversation flows easily between them.

The whole thing is going swimmingly.

“Oh Geralt! Geralt! This is it! This is the moment!” Jaskier smacks the man’s knee, who had decided to lie down and relax while the actor watched on in excitement. He grunts as he moves to Jaskier’s side, peering in.

Yennefer signals to a waiter who nods and disappears into the kitchen. She takes Triss’s hands, rubbing her thumbs over the knuckles and begins to spiel something very romantic. Of course, Jaskier can’t hear what’s being said but he wrote the script so, he mouths along.

A new waiter appears, carrying two slices of cake. Jaskier claps in excitement because this is about to happen.

Until the cake is deposited at the wrong table.

“Wait. No! No no no no no no no!”

He watches in horror as Yennefer glances around wondering where the fuck her cake is, while this other woman stabs her with her fork and pulls up the ring. She begins shouting in delight as her partner shakes their head furiously.

Triss seems to be in awe of the couple, Yennefer’s head falls into her hands (she’s going to murder him for this), and Jaskier realizes he very much did jinx it.

“Fuck.”

 

 


 

 

Proposal 3:

“Jaskier, no.”

“Yennefer, yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not? It’s a brilliant idea! A whole crowd of people dancing to her favourite song and then they surround her, with you in the middle, down on one knee and a ring.”

“It’s tacky. No.”

“Yennefer, you agreed to do this my way.”

“And your way has been a shitshow the last two times.”

“Mere oversights. Third time is the charm my dear.”

“Jaskier. I said no.”

“Well, I don’t think you really have an option.”

“What did you do?”

“I may have already paid and choregraphed the piece.”

“Jaskier you idiot.”

“In my defence, I did think you would say yes.”

Why would you think that?”

“Because you came to me for help and have gone willingly with the other ideas I had.”

“A flash mob? You thought I’d say yes to a flash mob?”

“Why not? All great movies that have big romantic gestures include flash mobs.”

“You mean all terrible movies.”

Jaskier waves her off. “This will go well my dearest witch. Just trust me on this.”

Yennefer narrows her eyes, arms crossed tightly before she huffs. “Fine. But if you fuck this up, we’re done.”

“Noted.”

It won’t mess up. Jaskier will make sure of it.

 

 


 

 

Yennefer escorts Triss to the center of the market, where people bustle around, looking at the trinkets and picking up their groceries. The redhead’s closed early for the day, leaving the couple to meander about.

Jaskier stands with his camera, hidden in Triss’s shop which he snuck into after she left. He had asked Geralt if he wanted to come along but the man vehemently said he wanted no part of whatever this new escapade was. It’s not an escapade thank you very much, but a grand declaration of Yennefer’s love for Triss done in song and dance.

So very much not Geralt’s taste, but very much Jaskier’s.

He’s going to film the proposal, send it to Geralt, and rub it in his face how he never should have doubted him.

Yennefer and Triss get to the center of the market and that’s when Jaskier signals for the music to begin. A catchy pop song blares from the speakers set around the area, and people begin to move.

Triss seems happily surprised, which bodes well for how she’ll react to the final piece. She grooves along, laughing and clapping and Jaskier grins as he zooms in on her face.

He can’t wait to loiter this over his soulmate.

Yennefer also seems pleased with how everything is going. Everyone is synchronised and staying on beat, so this is going to end perfectly, with Yennefer down on one knee holding out a breathtaking ring for the redhead.

Or that’s how it should have gone when the flash mob hits the bridge. But someone miscalculates their step, and next thing Jaskier sees is the group is descending like dominos.

Jaskier can only watch as everyone in the mob groans, cries, and shuffles off to the side to tend to their injuries. Yennefer’s eyes find his in the crowd, furious and well, it’s not his fault someone tripped, but he understands her frustration because this is the third attempt that’s gone south.

His phone dings, showing a message from Geralt asking how it went. He send him the video.

Well, onto the fourth try. Hopefully.

If Yennefer doesn’t eat him alive.

 

 


 

 

Proposal 4:

Geralt has watched the love of his life try three times to create a winning proposal for his friends, each one failing spectacularly. He knows that Jaskier’s intentions are good, but he’s also known Triss and Yennefer much longer than the actor has, so he knows that bigger isn’t better for the two of them despite the actor’s insistence.

So when Yennefer storms into his meditation, shutting the door quickly and groaning as she does, he realizes she must be hiding from Jaskier.

He doesn’t blame her. The man’s been a menace lately with all this proposal planning.

“He’s relentless.

“Hm.”

“How do you put up with it? Actually, don’t answer that. I know exactly how.”

Geralt smirks. “What do you need Yen?”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore. Triss is getting suspicious which means that she’ll see a proposal coming from a mile away. She also thinks Jaskier’s going insane and keeps nagging at him to see why he’s all over the place. It’s a miracle he hasn’t blabbed yet.”

“I think you can trust him to keep a secret on this.”

“Maybe.” She sighs. “I shouldn’t have asked him for help. I should’ve know he’d go ballistic.”

“I did warn you.”

“Barely.”

Geralt shrugs. “It’ll go the way it’s supposed to.”

“Uh huh. What would you suggest?”

“Me?”

“Yes you.”

“Hm.”

“Grunting isn’t an answer.”

“I don’t know. Triss likes plants, so you could take to the greenhouse, by the waterfall. Have a little picnic set up, make sure the place is empty, so it’s just the two of you with the soothing sound of the falls and the twinkling from the fairy lights in the trees and then propose there. Get all dressed up and stuff.”

Yennefer hums intrigued by the idea as her brow furrows. “That was similar to my original idea. Actually, that’s better.”

“Hm.”

“Wait a minute. That idea is oddly specific.” Her eyes grow wide. “Is that how you’re going to propose to Jaskier?”

Geralt freezes before he sighs, releasing the tension of being caught. “It was an idea.”

“Sounds pretty concrete to me.”

“Hm.”

“I can’t do that Geralt. If it’s for Jaskier, leave it for him.”

“Take it. From the looks of it, I’ll need to do something bigger.” he rolls his eyes at the thought.

“I didn’t realize you were even planning on marrying the guy. You never make this momentous of a decision this quickly.”

“There’s no one else. We’ve never talked about it, but I’ve assumed it’s something he’d want, so I’ve been planning just in case.”

“Is it something you want?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Look at you all grown up."

"Fuck off."

Yennefer smirks. "Alright then. If you don’t mind me taking the idea, I will. I think it’s perfect for Triss.”

“I agree. Go ahead.”

“Thanks Geralt.”

“You’re welcome.”

 

 


 

 

Geralt watches Jaskier place the finishing touch ups on the area where Yennefer plans to propose.

“I’ll admit, as quaint as this all is, I do think it’s the best one yet. A proposal in the middle of the forest? Surrounding in an ethereal fantasy? It’s a sight to behold.”

“Told you simple was the way to go.”

“Yes, yes. You were right, I was wrong.” Jaskier sighs, leaning onto the witcher as he takes it all in after setting up the last bit. Geralt wraps an arm around, gently stroking his shoulder.  

“Would you, want something like this?”

“Hm? Want what?”

“This.”

“Darling, are you asking if I want a proposal like this? We’ve never talked about marriage.”

“Is that something you want?”

Jaskier taps his chin. “Well, I suppose so. I always dreamed of getting married. Though I will admit the wedding was always a bit more appealing.”

Geralt snorts, his lips twitching. Jaskier continues on. “But yes. I did always want someone for life since I didn’t know if I’d ever meet my soulmate. And now that I have you, we do have forever as we are bound, but I think, no I know, I’d like the rings. Something for everyone to see that you are mine and I am yours. But only if you want it to.”

“Hm.”

As Geralt stands there with Jaskier, he understands the desire to have the symbol of their partnership. With their marks nothing but scars, there is no way for anyone to know that they belong to each other. And the last thing Geralt wants is for some person to mistakenly think Jaskier is available and then make a move.

The thought makes him growl to which his mate kisses his shoulder, amusement splayed on his face as he senses Geralt’s jealously. “Relax, my white wolf. I am only every going to be yours.”

The assurance strokes his ego, making Geralt calm down and kiss his mate to silence the laughter spewing out of him. “We should get going, they’ll be here soon.”

“Can we watch? I found a spot were we can see it without them noticing.”

“I’m not sure Yennefer wants that.”

“No, but I do. Come on.”

Jaskier grasps Geralt’s wrist and leads him into a set of bushes. The space is very small so Geralt has to sit with Jaskier on his lap for both to see and not cause any disturbances. It’s not the most comfortable position, and Geralt would rather not invade on this private moment between the women, but Jaskier is a pest and will probably complain as loudly as he can if they were to skip this.

Geralt’s learned to pick his battles very efficiently with his mate.

“Oh Geralt! Look! Here they come. Oh Triss is absolutely stunning. And Yennefer has gone to the nines. This is it!”

“Hm.”

The witcher rests his chin on the actor’s shoulder, watching the pair sit and chuckle with one another. It’s nice, seeing Yennefer happy and free. Triss has been very good for her and to her, a far cry from how Geralt and Yen’s relationship had gone.

If you could call it a relationship.

Jaskier wraps his hands overtop of Geralt’s, sensing the witcher’s melancholy as he watches. Which only further cements Geralt’s desire to put a ring on his finger. While he himself had never imagined being married, for the Path didn’t allow for that, being with Jaskier, the man whose whims are as thrilling as they are exhausting, who understands him and cares for him in a way that no one ever has, Geralt wants the world to know that the actor belongs to someone.

To him. Mind, body, and soul.

So, while the next words out of his mouth aren’t accompanied with a big gesture or spectacle, Geralt knows that Jaskier’s still going to love it.

“Marry me.”

Cornflowers turn to him, sparkling in the dark of the bush with his lips growing into a smile. Jaskier doesn’t question him, doesn’t demand something bigger and better, but kisses the corner of his lips.

“It would be my honour.”

 

 


Outfit Inspiration: 

 

Jaskier: 

 

 

Geralt: 

 

 

Yennefer: 

 

 

Proposal 1: 

 

Jaskier: 

 

 

Geralt: 

 

Yennefer: 

 

 

Triss: 

 

 

Proposal 2:  

Jaskier: 

 

 

Geralt: 

 

 

Yennefer: 

 

 

Triss: 

 

 

Proposal 3: 

Jaskier: 

 

 

Yennefer: 

 

 

Triss: 

 

 

Proposal 4: 

Jaskier: 

 

 

Geralt: 

 

 

Yennefer: 

 

 

Triss: 

 

 

Triss's Ring: 

Notes:

Coda 5 will be out September 6 or earlier. It's title Savage and a quick little summary is:

"Ciri makes a new friend at her school but hides it from her parents. Jaskier finds out and learns how to be a parent."

See you all in a week or earlier!

Chapter 12: Coda 5: Savage

Notes:

Here is Coda 5 folks! Given to you all nice and quick.

I don't own anything and canon is the worst.

Thanks for all the love on this fic! Very much appreciated.

Enjoy lovelies!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Batshit

Coda 5: Savage

“Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them.”
― James Baldwin

 

 

School is one of those things that Ciri really likes. At the age of thirteen she loves being in a classroom and not hanging around her family to teach her things. The only downside to attending school, has been her struggle to make friends.

Since she joined so late, most of her fellow students grew up together and know one another already. The cliques have formed, the boundaries have been established. Being the new kid is weird, uncool, and so not someone anyone wants to hang out with. So Ciri often finds herself alone in the cafeteria eating her lunch and working alone on school projects.

But then she meets Dara. Dara, who is an elf and just as awkward around people as she is. He gets partnered with her for their science project and the pair bond over their love for botany. Their friendship is simple and Ciri, she’s never really had friends like this before. The last person who came close, well, things didn’t turn out so good.

So, when the teacher reminds everyone of the due date for their project, the blonde realizes they miscalculated and need to finish it pronto to get the full marks.

“Dara!” the blonde shouts as she sees the elf at his locker.

“Yeah?”

“We have a problem.”

“We do?”

“We messed up the due date for our science project. We thought it was next week but it’s in two days!”

“Oh! You’re right. Crap. We need to work on it after school then.”

“Yeah.” Ciri nibbles on her thumbnail. This isn’t good. “Can we go to your place to work on it?”

“Uh not really. I live in a boys’ home, so it’ll be loud and noisy. What about your place?”

Kaer Morhen is definitely out of the question. Ciri hasn’t even mentioned Dara’s existence to her parents or anyone in the keep. After last time, they’ll be hovering all around and extra paranoid.

So, the keep is definitely out.

“No. That won’t work. How about we meet in town?”

“Where?”

“The community center? It’s got tables.”

Dara shrugs. “Okay. I can’t do tonight as I have soccer. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” Dara smiles and gathers his stuff, heading off to his next class while Ciri heads to hers. Now, she has to game plan out to get out of the keep to meet up with Dara.

Woo boy.

 

 


 

 

The next day finds Ciri packing up her backpack, peering around halls, and sneaking her way to the entrance of the keep. Her plan? Bike down the mountain, meet with Dara, finish their project, and then get home before anyone notices.

Everything should've gone smoothly. No one sees her leave the house or grab her bike from the garage. Nor do they hear the bike tires crunch on the gravel as she pedals.

Except Jaskier. Who is not who she thought would catch her (she lives with four witchers and two sorceresses for goodness sake). She’s never encountered Jaskier in a parental role, though he technically isn’t her parent (well, not yet. It’s only a matter of time she figures) but as he stands there at the end of the driveway, one eyebrow raised and arms crossed, she slams her breaks and the bike squelches against the gravel.

“Jaskier! Hi!”

“You know, I was enjoying the outdoors when I heard light footsteps attempting to be quiet as they left the house. I found that strange, for why would anyone need to sneak away from the keep? Until I saw you, glancing back and forth, tiptoeing into the garage and coming out with your bike. Going somewhere?”

“Uh…” Crap. How is she going to get out of this?

“May I remind you my career is in acting, so I know a lie when I see one.”

Double crap. “Well, I was just going for a bike ride. Down the mountain.”

“And what is down the mountain hm?”

Crapppppppp. “Nothing. Things. Stuff.”

“Ciri.”

She sighs. “I’m meeting with a friend to work on a school project.”

“And you have to sneak out to do that? If it’s schoolwork I see no reason why Geralt or Yennefer would not let you go.”

“You don’t get it. They’re like, super paranoid about this kind of stuff.”

“Explain it to me.”

“Last time I had a friend, things went really bad. And ever since then they don’t let me out of their sight whenever I’m around anyone! I’m thirteen! I can handle myself.”

She sees a smile grow on Jaskier face before he shuts it down. What a weirdo.

“Ciri, it’s exactly because you’re thirteen you should have a parent around. Besides, you’re also the grandchild of a very powerful woman. I’m not surprised your parents are a little over-protective.”

“I know how to defend myself.”

“I’m sure you do. But, having an adult around in case things go poorly doesn’t hurt either.”

He has a point. Ciri fumes silently until an idea pops into her head. “Why don’t you take me down then?”

“You want me to be your escort?”

“Yeah! You’re like my parent anyway.”

He seems to soften at that which Ciri thinks is just strange because isn’t that obvious?

“Very well. Come on. Put your bike away, we’ll take my moped.”

“Seriously? That thing is so lame.”

“Don’t insult Pegasus.”

“You named it Pegasus?”

“Charming isn’t it?”

“Sure.”

God what a lameo.

 

 


 

 

The pair get down the mountain in record time to the community center. Ciri hops off, rushing inside to find Dara as Jaskier parks the vehicle. He takes a look around, not seeing anything out of the ordinary (Geralt would approve of his vigilance) before he heads inside.

The child Ciri meets is very obviously elvish, with his pointy ears and fae like features. Jaskier hasn’t seen a full elf in a long time and he can’t imagine the boy has had it easy.

He decides to keep his distance and let the pair work. The last thing Ciri wants is an adult loitering about so he’ll just grab a horrible coffee from the food counter and do some work on his phone. Simple day. It’ll be nice.

What he doesn’t see coming is Triss, which he really should have as she does business with Linda, the lady who works part time at the hospitality desk.

“Jaskier!”

“Ah! Triss! Hello. Forgot you’d be here today.”

“What brings you down here? Geralt should be practicing with the others right now. You never miss an opportunity to ogle.”

“Ah well.”

“Oh. Ciri’s here? And who is she with? Wait is that a boy?” The redhead gapes, looking between the two as realization sinks in. “I see.”

“It’s not a date. She’s got a school project to work on and was planning on sneaking down the mountain. I caught her and figured it’d be best to come along.”

“Ah. Gotcha. She’s getting to be that age isn’t she?”

“Where teenage rebellion takes hold? Yes.”

She chuckles and joins him at his table. “It’s not just that. Geralt and Yen have always been a little overprotective of her. So, she’s always felt a little caged.”

“She mentioned something about that.”

“How much did she tell you?”

“Only that something bad happened long ago and it made them paranoid.”

Triss shrugs. “Ciri used to attend a private school before this. But she got bullied. Pretty badly. Yen and Geralt went nuts. Yen penalized the school and threatened to shut it down while Geralt almost beat the bully to a pulp. Vesemir had to step in and decided on homeschooling until it no longer was a good option.”

“What made them let her go back to public school this year?”

“Well, for one, it’s a different school. Two, Ciri no longer is living with Calanthe.”

“Wait, this was the reason…”

“Yup. The bullying got so bad that Ciri’s chaos lashed out. It almost killed the people hurting her. Because it was so intense, Yen caught wind of it, forced Geralt to claim his child surprise so she could train her properly and protect her. Geralt actually agreed to it after seeing the way Calanthe just brushed it under the carpet with no repercussions for the bullies. The nobility is incredibly corrupt.”

“Yes it is.”

“So, Geralt claimed Ciri, this poor girl who was a shell of herself after it all went down. She could hide here in the mountains, receive training and education. Yen threatened the school, Geralt the bullies and Ciri came here.”

“How tragic.”

“Yeah. I’ve understood their reasons but it’s isolating. She’s a kid you know? She needs to be around people her own age not a bunch of adults with the emotional maturity of a toddler.”

“Agreed.”

“I love Yen and Geralt but, they aren’t always the most emotionally conscious people.”

“Understatement of the century.

“I won’t tell them by the way. And I think it’s a really great thing Ciri has you here to watch her.”

“I can’t protect her the way Geralt or Yennefer can though.”

“You don’t need to. You have more influence over the public than they ever could. You’re famous. That’s got a lot of protection to offer when used right.”

“Good point.”

“Besides, you’ve got Ciri’s best interests at heart. You could’ve sent her back into the keep, lectured her for trying to sneak out and ground her. But instead, you let her live a little. You know what Geralt would’ve done?”

“Locked her in her room?”

“No. That’s a Yen thing. No, Geralt would’ve taken her to the training ground, fought her with their swords, won, making her feel weak, and then sent her to her room. He’s the whole “prove your worth” kind of parent. Sometimes Ciri gets it, sometimes she doesn’t.”

“That does not sound healthy.”

“Yen and him are actually really good parents as you know. But they are horrible at consequences involving emotional intelligence.”

Jaskier snorts. Triss joins him in his laughter, the pair sharing in their camaraderie. Soon, they’re simply staring at Ciri and her friend, who are laughing as they work together. Jaskier’s heart warms at the sight.

Until he feels Geralt’s fear spike.

“Uh oh.”

“What?”

“It’s Geralt. He’s panicking.”

Triss’s eyes go wide. “Shit. He must have finished sparring. And because you weren’t there…”

“He must think something is wrong. Fuck. Okay. I’m going to call him. Tell him I’m alright.”

“Good idea. But can he not feel you in the bond?”

“I’m sending calmness through it but, my voice should be the cherry on top.”

The phone rings a couple of times before it goes to voicemail. Fuck. “Darling, it’s me. I’m fine. I’m just at the community center with Triss and Ciri. You don’t need to worry. Call me back when you get this. Love you. Bye.”

“No answer?”

“I’m afraid not. You don’t think he’ll come here do you?”

“Wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Oh dear. I’ll try calling again.”

Jaskier listens to the phone ring, which keeps going and increasing his anxiety over Geralt’s fear, which seems to be escalating despite Jaskier trying to assure the witcher he’s fine.

And then the doors slam open in the community center. All of the heads inside shoot up towards the sound, Jaskier spotting the black eyes of his witcher and a very angry Yennefer beside him.

Well, they must know that Ciri vanished too. This is not going to end well.

Geralt’s eyes land on Jaskier making the witcher visibly calm. His eyes fade into their golden sunrise before he beelines for Ciri along with the sorceress.

“Triss.”

“I know. Time to run intervention.”

“Indeed.”

They rush over, sliding in-between Ciri and a very trembling elf.

“Triss.”

“Yen.”

“Move.”

“Not gonna happen.”

Yennefer snarls, her purple eyes narrowing on her fiancée who stands her ground, eyebrows raised, and arms crossed. Jaskier meanwhile turns to the teens, sees the fire in Ciri’s eyes as she gets ready to fight and the tremble of the boy’s jaw. He turns to his soulmate, worry flooding through him over how Geralt will react.

But as he faces him, Geralt’s eyes are large and wide, almost as if he is afraid. His eyes sadden and he runs out of the community center. Jaskier’s mind whirls, trying to understand what just happened until it dawns on him that the witcher must have misunderstood his fear.

He thought he must’ve been afraid of him.

“Triss I need…”

“Go. Yen, Ciri and I are due for a chat.”

Jaskier gives her a smile as a thank you before he dashes off to find Geralt. It doesn’t take him long. He can hear the man’s heartbeat from a mile away, so he follows the sound, allowing instinct to emerge forth so he can find him faster.

Geralt has gone into the forest behind the center, to the river that runs down from the mountain. He leans against a large boulder, arms crossed, jaw tense as he stares into the distance.

Jaskier approaches him slowly. The last thing either of them need is Geralt getting scared and bolting. Though he’s done better on that in the past year, he still has his moments.

Like now.

“I know you’re there.”

Jaskier goes to stand beside him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Geralt, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did. I scared you.”

“Oh darling no. You could never scare me. I was scared for Ciri. You and Yennefer are very protective which is lovely, but Ciri is merely a child, well, teenager, but she’s young. And after all that went on, she’s vulnerable when it comes to meeting people. She made a friend. She was scared for her parents to react the same way as last time.”

“Triss told you.”

“Yes. She did.”

“Hm.” 

“Are you angry?”

“No. You should’ve known sooner.”

Jaskier steps into Geralt’s space, taking the witcher’s face into his hands. He urges calming waves between the two of them, to ease the tension that is set in his white wolf’s shoulders. It works.

“Being a parent is never easy. In fact, it’s one of the hardest things an adult has to do. But my darling, Ciri is no longer a child scared of her own shadow. She’s stronger in her magic and her skills. She’s not for the faint of heart. I know you and Yennefer are scared she’ll be bullied again. But she can’t spend the rest of her adolescence with adults. She needs to be hanging out and developing relationships with people her own age. The boy, whoever he is, he doesn’t strike me as a threat. Ciri likes him and she’s a good judge of character for someone so young. This is a good thing for her.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Yes. And you’re right.”

“I am? Wait no. Of course I am. Yes. Wait. What?”

Geralt chuckles, taking Jaskier’s hands in his and kissing the inside of his wrist. Jaskier’s heart flutters as he bites his lip, resisting the urge to moan. Now’s not the time for that. 

“You’re right about Ciri. And her needing to be with others her own age. It’s why Vesemir had her enroll in public school this year.”

“Wise man.”

“Hm. And, you’re right about me needing to take a step back and let her be young. Ciri’s safe now and she’s in a different place. A better place. So am I.”

Jaskier preens under Geralt’s gaze. “Glad we’re sorted then.”

“Hm.”

“Now, since you’re no longer brooding and Triss has a handle on her ladies, what’s say you and I christen this spot here?”

“Thought you didn’t like stripping in public.”

“No. But having you take me against a boulder has always been a personal fantasy of mine.” 

Geralt’s grin is wolfish as he grips Jaskier’s arms and pins him to the large rock. Jaskier laughs, letting it ring aloud in the clearing as his witcher descends on his favourite spot.

 

 


 

 

The evening finds the pair wholly satisfied in their bedroom, Jaskier online perusing ethical rings while Geralt sits beside him, scrolling through his phone.

“Ciri’s coming.”

“Ah. Suppose that explains the light footsteps.”

The pair share a grin before they lay their eyes on the door. It opens as soon as they do, long blonde locks swinging inside as she closes it behind her.

“It’s really freaky when you two do that.”

“It’s why we do it in the first place.” Says Jaskier, patting the spot at the end of the bed for her. Ciri rolls her eyes as she makes her way over.

“I came to apologize. I’m sorry I left the keep and didn’t tell anyone. I should’ve.”

“You should have.” Geralt says all serious. Jaskier simply continues searching for the perfect ring, knowing not to intervene between the two of them.

“And I’m sorry too.”

Ciri’s eyes go big. “What?”

“Yen and I, we’ve been too harsh. You’re growing up and we need to respect that. We need to let you expand your horizons.”

Ciri’s mouth drops. Geralt keeps his serious façade but Jaskier can only chuckle, gently closing the girl’s mouth. “You’ll catch flies that way princess.”

“I—what? Did I just get both you and Mom apologizing to me? In one day? If I had known you two being in love would’ve made your more open, I would’ve set you up a long time ago.”

“I make no promises.”

“Uh huh. Well, thanks. I appreciate that. And thanks Jaskier.”

He winks. “Not a problem. If you ever need to vent about your old man, I’m here.”

Geralt growls to the delight of Ciri. Her laughter is loud and true as she pops off the bed and leaves the room.

“Old man?”

“To Ciri dearheart, you are prehistoric.”

He rolls his eyes, settling further into Jaskier’s side. “Just pick out a ring.” He grumbles. Jaskier kisses his head fondly.

What an adorable grump. 

 

 


Outfit Inspiration: 

 

Ciri: 

 

 

Dara: 

 

 

Jaskier: 

 

 

Triss: 

 

 

Geralt: 

 

 

Yennefer: 

Notes:

Alright. Coda 6 is titled Up We Go and the little summary is as follows:

"How Jaskier Became an Entertainer."

That's it. That's essentially the coda. See you all by September 7 or earlier!

Chapter 13: Coda 6: Up We Go

Notes:

I don't know why this one was so hard to write, but it was and honestly, went a different direction than planned. Luckily, I managed to finish it! Only one more coda to go.

I don't own anything and canon is like, a thing I don't follow.

Enjoy lovelies!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Batshit

Coda 6: Up We Go 

“The past is always tense, the future perfect.”
― Zadie Smith

 

Jaskier tunes his guitar, twisting the knobs at the end to adjust the sound to make sure that when he goes through his scales the music will sound good to the ear. It never takes him long (thank goodness) and soon he’s flowing through his technical practice with great ease.

Undisturbed and in the moment, he loses himself to the rhythm of his fingers dancing across the strings. His memories drift on by, encompassed with a symphony of emotions, both good and bad, as he plays.

Niggling in the back of his soul he can feel Geralt nearby, probably listening to his melodies that he’s now transitioned from the scales into  old songs and new, to ramp up his inspiration so composing will be effortless. He’ll be entering in soon, always eager to meditate under Jaskier’s music, allowing the tunes and presence of the actor to soothe away any tension.

Geralt does arrive rather quickly once Jaskier is in full swing, accompanied by a smaller figure. Jaskier can hear Ciri’s lighter patter right beside Geralt’s heavy footsteps as they enter his sanctuary.

Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge them when the come in, choosing to focus on the sound he is creating, the music that flows from his guitar. It’s methodical and reassuring to know that he hasn’t lost the songs from his mother’s court and that they flow out of him as naturally as breathing air.

Time flies by as he plays, Ciri bouncing on her chair in anticipation for something, Geralt merely meditating by the fire. Winter has begun to set in, meaning that they’ll be stuck inside soon.

Perhaps that is what has the teenager so eager. The coming of winter means a break from school, holidays, and presents. Not to mention free time with Dara without the excuse of homework in the way.

About three hours pass until Jaskier finally sets down his instrument. Cornflower blues falls on the teen, who watches rapidly.

“Are you done now?”

“I am princess.”

“Awesome. I need help.”

“With what?”

“Well, I have music next semester and my teacher says we need to pick what instrument to play over the holidays. Apparently guitars don’t count.”

Jaskier frowns. That is unfortunate, as Ciri has gotten quite good with her guitar. But he also understands the teacher wanting them to play something not as common.

“Well, there are many instruments to choose from. Is there a specific list of available options?”

“The usual. Woodwinds like the flute and clarinet. Brass like trumpets. Percussion.”

“What do you want to play?”

“I figured I could ask you and you’d tell me.”

“Well, there’s no harm in trying out a few.”

“Dara’s going to learn the trumpet.”

“I’m sure he’ll have fun with that.”

“Dad says I can’t play anything too loud. It’ll hurt your ears.”

Jaskier’s eyes fall onto the witcher whose eyes flicker open. Gold crashes onto the actor, who simply raises his eyebrows. “Did you really say that?”

“Your ears are sensitive and hyper aware. I don’t want them getting damaged.”

Jaskier’s not sure if that’s wonderfully sweet or idiotic.

It’s both. It’s stupidly sweet.  

“I’m afraid that’s a consequence of learning a new instrument. It’s going to be loud no matter what.”

“Hm.” Geralt stands, runs a hand through his hair as he makes his way to the pair before he plops down beside Jaskier. The actor immediately leans into his bulk, enjoying the warmth he radiates. Gods, he adores having his own personal heater as the keep begins to set into a permanent states of chilliness.

“How about we try the flute first?”

“Ugh no. The flute’s too girly.”

“Quite sure James Galway would disagree. What about the clarinet?”

“I don’t want to play something needing a reed.”

“Well, then the saxophones are out too. Do you want to learn trumpet along with Dara? Or maybe the tuba?”

“I don’t want to have to substitute my breathing for blowing.”

 Jaskier snorts and forces his blush down. No need to ruin Ciri’s innocence. He’ll just brush past that. “There’s the percussion section. Drums, timpani, xylophone…”

“I’d be down to try the drums.”

“No.” Geralt’s tone is firm.

“Dadddddddd.”

“No.”

“C’mon. Jaskier’s precious ears will be fine.

Geralt crosses his arms, his face passive towards his daughter. Ciri parallels his actions. Jaskier looks between the two, sighing at their stalemate. The two of them are so stubborn.

Like father, like daughter. Truly.

“Ciri, I will help you learn how to play drums. Geralt, my darling, I adore your desire to keep me safe, but I can handle some obnoxious pounding.”

“Hm.”

“See Dad? If Jaskier says it’s fine, it’s fine. Thanks Jas.”

“You’re welcome princess.”

Ciri gives her father a smug look as she leaves the room. Geralt sighs, head falling back onto the couch. Jaskier can sense his distress about arguing with his daughter, so he sends comfort through their bond, stroking the long white locks as the cherry on top.

“This is a bad idea.”

“Dearheart, it truly isn’t. There have been far worse things that have damaged me. Your daughter playing the drums won’t be one of them.”

“What things?” the witcher growls out, ready to tear down whoever hurt Jaskier. The actor chuckles, kissing pursed lips lightly to ease away the grumbling.

“Nothing to worry about.”

Jaskier feels Geralt’s body shift and turn towards him. By now he should know he can’t dismiss long talks so easily with the witcher. Geralt will never push for more information, but he also won’t let things just slide. He’s a patient man. So he’ll wait it out.

Jaskier however is not very good with patience. Besides, Geralt deserves to know these things of his past as they are engaged.

And forever bound.

“When I lived in Lettenhove, my father wasn’t the kindest. He was negligent with me unless it was for viscount duties. And he found music to be a frivolous affair for someone of my status. My mother, being a fae, had no interest in the politics of men and as a being of the summer court, adored all things from the arts. Music, painting, drawing, theatre, all of it brought her joy. So, you can imagine the disagreements between the two of them.”

“How were you ever born?”

Jaskier laughs. “I honestly have no clue. My mother never tells me the story and my father passed long ago. Not that I ever would have asked him for the answer. He probably would have lied through his teeth. Anywho, for my twentieth birthday, my mother had hand crafted an elvish lute. Oh Geralt you should have seen it. It was truly a mesmerizing instrument. It had runes carved into the sides and had been charmed to never be damaged. It was magnificent. My father, of course, was unimpressed. He would do his best to keep me from playing. Whenever he was home, he’d have me in business meetings, studying with tutors, or rap my knuckles if I dared touch it in his presence. So, I’d go into town when he was away on business and play in the pubs. It was radicalizing. When my father found out…he was livid. Music is for plebians. That was his favourite phrase. So, in a fit of rage he went to get rid of my lute. He couldn’t destroy it due to the chaos intertwined which only made him angrier. I was so afraid of what he might do to me that I called my mother and she was furious. She left her place in the court to come home. I didn’t know the extent of her anger. Not until the moment she set my father’s office ablaze.”

Geralt’s eyes grow wide. Jaskier feels his shock. “The fae are creatures of tricks but are loyal to their own. Should you ever threaten one they care for, you are asking for death. The lute was such a small thing but to my mother it was her love for me crafted into something special. My father’s plan to destroy it, destroyed any lingering affection for him. As her brethren, I had a higher place in her life than he did.”

“Did she kill him?”

“No. The burnt office was a warning. My father kicked me out, but it was fine, my mother had gotten me a connection at Oxenfurt, so I wasn’t homeless. But I never saw the lute again. I assume it got lost in the fire.”

“That’s the worst thing that’s happened to you?”

“No. The worst thing was burning my mark. But that is a close second. My father wasn’t the worst kind of man, but he certainly wasn’t great. His life was in that office. And mine was that lute.”

“You’re father sounds like a dick.”

“He was. But so was my mother to some extent. At the time though, watching him weep openly over his desk in flames was strangely satisfying.”

Geralt snorts. “Savage.”

“Like you haven’t been thrilled when Lambert whimpers after you sock him one.”

“He usually deserves it.”

“Of course he does darling. But you, my dear, are far more feral than I am.”

“Hm.”

“Now, onto the matter of a drum set. I’ll need to reach out to some of my acquaintances to get Ciri the instrument.”  

“Jaskier.”

“Yes my dear?”

“Thank you for telling me.”

Jaskier sighs blissfully as his cornflowers fall onto his witcher whose whole face is earnest. Gods, he adores this man.

“Thank you for listening.”

Jaskier doesn’t notice the glint in Geralt’s eye as he thinks of who he can reach out to about the drums, nor the lightbulb moment of an idea beginning to form in his partner’s head.

 

 


 

 

Geralt shoves the last few pieces of clothing into his rucksack in his bedroom. He shucks on his coat, zipping it up and wrapping a scarf around his neck. He slips his gloves on, throws the bag over his shoulder and heads out. He told Jaskier he’d be gone a couple of days but didn’t tell him why.

Jaskier might kill him for this. So he needs to actually succeed in order to defend his mission. That, and he’ll miss Ciri learning the drums, so he won’t be on edge the whole time.

Hopefully, she’ll have some semblance of how to play when he gets back. Jaskier can work a miracle on that instrument right? Right.

“Ready to go fucker?”

Geralt’s original plan had been to take Eskel with him, but the witcher said that he had to make sure his goat was going to be ready for the winter. The witcher honestly has no idea how that thing is still alive and wishes Priscilla the best of luck to deal with that.

So, he’s stuck with Lambert.

“Yeah. Got everything?”

“You betcha. Who’s doing the portal?”

“Triss. Yen’s got Ciri for her lessons.”

“That kid of yours spends more time training for shit than actually being a kid.”

“Not now Lambert.”

“Fine. So, tell me about this contract we’re going on?”

“We’re doing an item retrieval.”

“That’s lame. Any monsters we can kill?”

“Possibly. Place has been abandoned for some time.”

“Where the fuck are we going?”

Geralt doesn’t answer as the pair meet Triss in the portal room. “Alright. You two all ready to go?”

“Yes. The portal?”

The redhead waves her hand. “All yours. Shoot me a text with your location when you’re ready to come back.”

“Roger that Triss.”

“Have fun Lambert. And be safe!”

The duo step into the swirling chaos and step out into an alleyway. The bustle of the city screams around them, the smells pungent, making both of the witchers’ noses twitch.

“Fuck this place is rank.

“A far cry from before.”

“Lettenhove huh? Isn’t this…?”

“Yeah. We need to ask around.”

“What are we looking for?”

“A lute. Elvish design.”

“Fancy.”

“We’ll split up. You take the east side; I’ll do the west.”

“On it.”

Geralt watches Lambert disappear into the crowd before he makes his way to a pub titled The Lion’s Gate. A bell rings as he pushes the door open and with it comes the smell of sticky beer that has yet to be cleaned up, a drunkard’s raunchy scent because they haven’t’ showered in weeks, and something being deep fried in the kitchen.

It’s times like this he really hates being a witcher. He only hopes Jaskier doesn’t question his disgust in their connection and ask, yet again, why he doesn’t need his anchor for this mission.

The goal is to surprise him. They just need to make sure there is something to surprise him with.

“Hey there! What can I get ya?”

The bartender sends Geralt a smile while she cleans a glass with a rag.

“I’m looking for the Lettenhove manor.”

“Oh! You’re a history buff then? The manor is just north of here. Follow the signs in the square and you’ll find if no problem. It’s our biggest tourist spot in the city so you can’t miss it.”

Fuck. That complicates things.

“How often do they do tours?”

“Hourly I think? Only ten people per tour at a time.”

Fuck.

“Hm.”

Alright. Lambert and he will have to go on the tour and check the site, find the lute, then visit afterhours and grab it. Vesemir’s going to be pissed if they get caught.

“Thanks.”

“Are you going to order something?”

“No.”

He leaves, stepping back into the noise of the city. Geralt zones his smell onto Lambert’s familiar cigarette scent. He spots it near the large fountain in the middle of the square. Lambert sees him and waves, gesturing to a patio near him.

“You find anything?” Geralt asks as he sits down, watching their surroundings keenly. Lambert orders a pint from the waitress, silently asking if Geralt wants anything but he shakes his head.

“The manor is still up and running. Popular place due to the history of the family.”

“Heard the same thing.”

“Nothin’ bout a lute though. But it could just be on display somewhere if it’s there.”

“Hm.”

“So what’s your game plan?”

“Do a tour, get a surveillance of the area. Once done, we watch the guards, learn their schedules, then go in and get it. Assuming it’s there.”

“Or we wait till tomorrow when they shut down the entire thing and do renovations.”

Geralt’s lips purse. “Why didn’t you start with that?”

“I like seeing you flustered.”

“For fucks sake.”

 

 


 

 

Jaskier meanwhile, through his connections as a celebrity, manages to get Ciri top of the line drums.

And no, he isn’t regretting it. Geralt will not be right about this.

But he has taken to wearing ear plugs when working with Ciri on her practices.

If only there was a charm his mother could give him that makes the princess very good at this. Though, that wouldn’t actually teach her how to play and chaos is frowned upon in class.

So, good old-fashioned teaching then.

“Jaskier? You okay? You look off.”

“I’m fine. Just a tad tired. Can you, perhaps, try hitting the floor tom rather than the crash cymbal?”

“Jaskier. I don’t know what any of that means.”

A lightbulb goes off. He may be able to save his ears and his sanity. “That’s right. You don’t know anything about the drums.”

“Duh.”

“You need to learn theory and the different parts before you should even be playing.”

“Oh no. You make me do that with guitar! That stuff is so boring!”

“And you need to know it for percussion to. Excellent. I will go make some lesson plans for you to follow. This is going to be brilliant!”

Ciri groans, her head falling onto the snare as Jaskier shoots up clapping his hands. “No touching the drum set until you have a basis understanding of the theory.”

“This is going to suck.”

 

 


 

 

Geralt and Lambert take their time on the tour of the Lettenhove estate. For Lambert, this is just another contract. For Geralt, this is his soulmate’s childhood home.

It doesn’t pass him the significance of this place. He can just see a young Jaskier, running the halls giggling as he hides from his nannies. The interior is that of regency décor, all designed to exhibit the wealth of the Lettenhove family for those who came to visit.

The whole thing screams elitism of a snobbish society, one that Geralt had never been too fond of. And one that doesn’t suit his mate at all. The lavish designs may be similar to Jaskier’s flamboyancy, but the history of the manor reflects the opposite.

It is a house, not a home.

The guide is annoyingly chipper as he explains about the architecture, something that Geralt has very little interest in. Though he does have a strong desire to punch the man in the face just to shut him up. If he has to hear about vertically striped wallpaper one more time…

“Geralt.”

Lambert taps him, gesturing with his head to the left where a hallway veers off the main path. Geralt nods and the pair dash down it quickly, without the guide even noticing.

“Coast is clear.”

“What’d you find?”

“This.”

In a glass case surrounded by a red rope is none other than Jaskier’s lute. Underneath a spotlight, resting on a blue cushion, the instrument shines, capturing the attention of any passerby. It truly is beautiful, just like how his mate described it.

“The question is, how the fuck do we get it out?”

“If they’re doing renovations, they’ll have to remove all the objects from the manor to a different location.”

“So we intercept it then?”

“Hm.”

“We’ll need to replace it with something.”

“Not necessarily. Tons of things get lost in transit.”

“It’s the sole item on display in the room. It’ll be one of the first things they look for when they arrive.”

Geralt huffs. Fuck. Lambert’s got a point. Well, there’s only one way to deal with that. He pulls out his phone, takes a picture and sends it to Yen. Her response is quick.

Explain.

A few moments and his phone his ringing.

“Why did you send me a photo of a lute?”

“It’s Jaskier’s.”

“That’s why you left? Good grief.”

“It’s a surprise for him. But we’ve hit a bit of a snag.”

“Okay. Let me guess, the lute in on display in some museum and you want me to make a replica so you can make a switch.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got a better idea than you trying to go all ocean’s eleven. Anyone near you?”

“No.”

Chaos crackles as a portal appears, with Yennefer emerging from it in all her glory. “Watch and learn boys.” She vanishes down some hallway, feet clacking on the hardwood floors with a mission.

“You called the witch?”

“She called me.”

“Yeah. Cause that’s the point I’m trying to make you fucker.”

Geralt scratches the back of his neck before running it over his face.

“She’s going to lord this over us.”

“Hm.”

Familiar heels make an appearance again, accompanied by a set of loafers that struggle to keep up. Keys jangle in a pocket, which causes the witchers to exchange a look. Yennefer then turns a corner back into their sight with a petite man in her wake, fumbling with his hands in his pockets as he tries to get the keys out.

“Gentlemen, this is Charles Wallace. He is the curator of the Lettenhove Estate.”

“You two know each other?”

“I have many connections Geralt. Honestly, you should have just contacted me before going on this whole charade.”

Charles finally gets a handle on his keys and goes to unlock the case. He removes the glass top gently and sets it on the floor. “It’s all yours Ms. Yennefer.”

“Thank you Charles. Geralt, I hope all of this is worth it.”

“What’d you give him?”

“It’s an old guitar not some priceless artifact. I just proved that having a lute as a precious relic was a waste of time and space and I would happily take it off his hands.”

“You used your chaos.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes. “Not everything needs to be solved by bloodshed. Some things can be solved by conversation. Charles is an old acquaintance of mine. He knows I don’t just make random visits for old times’ sake. Now, take the stupid thing and go before I have your heads for wasting my time.

The sorceress creates a portal, turns on her heel, and goes to follow the path Charles took leaving the room. It stays open, indicating that Geralt and Lambert are to follow. At least now they won’t have to call Triss.

“She ruins everything.” mutters Lambert, stepping into the vortex, disappointment evident on his face for not getting to smash something. Geralt rolls his eyes, grasping the lute gently and follows. The moment he steps in the keep he can hear Jaskier’s voice drift down through the floors to him. It lulls him, which only reassures him about his choice to give this to his mate. Yes, using Yen at the beginning would’ve made this all easier, but at the end of the day, he got the lute.

And that’s all that matters.

 

 


 

 

Jaskier sings to his heart’s content, strumming the guitar. He jots down a few lyrics as he continues to go through, composing and crafting the songs for his third album. Ciri is off working on theory, more specifically the importance of rests, when he hears familiar footsteps coming about.

Geralt’s returned home. Much earlier than expected. What a pleasant surprise. A quiet knock erupts on the door which makes Jaskier frown. Geralt never knocks when the actor is working, but instead tip toes in and meditates.

Strange. “Come in!”

“Hey.”

“Hello! You’re back early.”

“May have overshot the requirements of the contract.”

“Really? Seems unlike you.”

“Lambert’s fault.”

“Of course. What’s behind your back?”

Jaskier feels a spike of nervousness in his paramour, making him slightly worry at what is behind his back. “Is this what your contract was for?”

“It wasn’t a contract.”

“No?”

“No. It was a personal thing. It’s why you didn’t need to come.”

“I am relieved to hear that because you going out on a contract to kill something without your anchor because that would have been a terrible idea. But…what personal thing needed your attention for supposedly a few days which only turned out to be one?”

Jaskier watches as Geralt brings out behind him a very familiar instrument. One he thought he’d never see again. “Geralt…” his voice is faint as it comes out, overwhelmed with emotion. One hand clasps over his mouth, the other shakily reaches out to grab the neck of the lute and place it in his lap.

His fingers lower themselves to trace the edge and the runes. They glide along the strings, marveling at how for many decades this divine piece as remained intact. Almost as if it had never aged since the day his mother gave it to him.

“I figured your old home was still standing and that if I searched the ruins, there’s a chance your mother’s gift would still be there.”

“I’m…I have no words.”

“It wasn’t decaying as I expected. In fact, it’s being renovated. The entire estate. It’s a tourist attraction in the city actually.”

“Really? My ancestral home? A tourist site? Suppose that makes sense. It is a rather extravagant building.”

“It was empty.”

“What do you mean?”

“The house. It was pretty but empty. Nothing really seemed like a home.”

Jaskier’s lips twitch in fondness. He reaches a hand to stroke Geralt’s cheek. “Oh my darling you would notice that. No, it was not. But that doesn’t matter anymore. I have a home. It’s here, in the keep. With you and Ciri and everyone else.”

“I’m sorry I went there without your permission. I should’ve asked.”

Oh no. It’s quite alright. You only had good intentions and you brought me back the one thing I loved the most there. I had thought I lost this for good.”

“Can you…”

“Still play? Well, let’s find out.”

Jaskier adjusts the lute on his lap, strums a few chords to make sure he hasn’t lost his touch, and then begins. His fingers are graceful on the strings, despite not having been used in quite some time. He feels a joy inside of him, one that he knows is shared between him and his soulmate.

So he sings of a love so strong and powerful that it overcomes all odds. A love that encompasses two men who struggle and fight but yearn for one another, deeply and unfathomably. A connection that Destiny has given only to them. Two souls entwined.

“Where did you learn that one?”

“It’s an old song from my mother’s court. It was the first thing I ever learned about soulmates. Made me think mine would be a love like this.”

“Did you find it?”

Jaskier looks to Geralt, who’s fingers hold themselves together. Anticipation floats between them. So, Jaskier reaches over his long-lost lute and grasps his hands in his soulmate’s.

“Only my true love would scour a place of sad memories to bring me back something I cherished.”

“Hm.”

“Yes I did. I found a love for the ages with you, my white wolf.”

 

 


Outfit Inspiration: 

Jaskier: 

Geralt: 

 

Ciri: 

Lambert: 

Triss: 

Yennefer: 

Notes:

Wooboy. Only one more coda to go folks. The little synopsis is as follows:

"Jaskier and Geralt get married."

It's the perfect conclusion to this whole thing don't you think? Check you all out in a week!

Chapter 14: Coda 7: We Were Here

Notes:

Here it is folks. The last coda of Batshit. This is probably my favourite and honestly, would've made a great conclusion as chapter 7 but instead it's an epic conclusion to the whole story.

Read, love, enjoy.

I own nothing and canon has been dunked into the trash can.

P.S. I have decided for all my fics from here on out will have outfit inspirations because visuals are important.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Batshit

Coda 7: We Were Here

 

“I have always been a lone wolf and in the real sense of the word (people say it all the time but it's usually not true.) I feel like I watch people and I wonder why they do things. Especially when it comes to love and relationships: most of the time I am thinking "Why are they together when they are not meant to be together?" but then I realize that they don't know that they're not meant to be together; it's just me who knows things like that! And I don't see any importance in all the other reasons why people usually want to be together— because it looks good, because it's convenient, because it's a fun game to play... the only reason to be with someone is if you are meant for someone. You're a wolf and they're a wolf too and you look at each other and you say, "You're my family, you're my home." Well, that's how I think.”

― C. JoyBell C.

 

 

Preparation for the union between Geralt and Jaskier is in full swing at Geralt’s villa in Toussaint. Jaskier, unsurprisingly, is a complete bridezilla, making Geralt steer clear of the man when he’s on the war path.

He’s quite content to sit on the balcony that extends from their room, drinking white gull while browsing through the most recent bestiary his mate gave him as a wedding present. It’s not the most fashionable gift for a groom, but Geralt really wouldn’t have wanted anything else.

He can hear the commotion beneath him, Jaskier yelling something at his brothers about the height the arch and then about the arrangement of the flowers. Lambert’s swearing under his breath, Eskel’s switching between sighing and laughing, Yennefer’s relaxing elsewhere (she had threatened the actor earlier when he tried to demand she do something), Ciri’s been running around with Dara and Triss is being the perfect assistant to the man.

Geralt’s just thankful Jaskier hasn’t asked him to do anything. He can avoid his dramatics in favour of relaxation.

He hasn’t had a vacation in a long time. In fact, Geralt can’t remember the last time he ever just willingly took a break from the Path. But with it being his wedding and marrying a very insistent man, he did. They all did. And so far, it’s been a blessing in disguise.

The group arrived at his villa a few days ago, Jaskier and Geralt coming earlier to “christen” the place to the persistence of the actor. The party, upon arrival, took their time, graciously settling in before beginning wedding preparations. Jaskier, in his true flamboyant fashion, went into overdrive with the gardens in the back which would be the perfect place to be married (his words, not Geralt’s), and immediately gave out roles to everyone.

The wedding itself is tomorrow, which may be why his mate is in such a tizzy, but Geralt knows that despite the rush, the place will look beautiful and so will Jaskier (he’s been imagining what Jaskier will be wearing, but the actor has successfully hidden his wardrobe from him).

He’s blissfully enraptured with his book until a scent scours into his nose. It scrunches upon the smell, his eyes darting upwards into the room, but he doesn’t see anything except a golden mist that leads outside into the hall. He places down his book, following the scent, which smells like a summer morning that has fresh dew on the grass. The trail leads him to the forest near the side, seemingly with the sun’s rays shining through that focus on one path which goes deep inside the trees.

Geralt checks his weapons. Swords on his back which he grabbed as he left, daggers in his boots and a stolen set of brass knuckles from Lambert’s personal collection.

With everything strapped in place, the witcher enters and follows the illuminated path. It goes on for a while but Geralt can’t sense anything off about the forest. There is no chaos lingering in the air or monsters that seem to be lurking about. It’s just him and whatever the golden mist is.

Eventually, he comes to a clearing and sees the mist swirl around a figure in the center. He knows by the appearance alone that this person is no human but a fae.

He begins to reach for his sword but finds his hand can’t move. Fuck.

“Hello, Geralt of Rivia.”

The figure turns revealing obsidian eyes, mint green skin and long blonde locks that flows as rivers do down the back. Her teeth are sharp and glint in the sunlight when she smiles. The golden mist surrounds her, sparkling in the rays and illuminating her figure to be the sun.

She must be Jaskier’s mother. A being of her nature screams summer court which his mate had mentioned was her home on several occasions. Jaskier must have told her about the wedding.

“Hello.”

“A witcher of few words.”

Normally, Geralt would grunt but this is Jaskier’s mother, so he can’t just act how he’d like to. So he shrugs.

“Words are more of Jaskier’s forte.”

Her smile seems to grow at that. “Yes, he does have a way with them.”

“Does he know you’re here?”

“No. I will make myself known when it’s right. I wanted to speak with you. I must admit, I was surprised when my son told me of his betrothed. Our kind don’t normally fraternize with yours. In fact, we’re usually hunted.”

Well fuck. Geralt scratches the back of his head, not knowing how to respond. She’s not wrong. But he sure as hell isn’t going to apologize. Fae can be shitty creatures and cause mayhem. Sometimes they deserve death. He’s about to retort but she raises her hand, silencing his tongue.

“I will not condemn you for your nature just as you cannot condemn me for mine. Witcher play a role in nature’s system, just as the fae do. I am not here to berate you, though it is quite entertaining watching you squirm. I am here, to offer you a blessing.”

That’s unexpected. Geralt’s eyebrows raise. “What kind of blessing?”

Jaskier’s mother begins to approach him, the golden mist and sunlight brightening with every step she takes. “The pair of you have longevity already, so giving you life would be redundant. That is the most common blessing we bestow on unions. No. What I have come to give is something you have been searching for your whole life Geralt of Rivia.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Your kind are taught that love is a weakness. Our kind are taught it is a strength. It is both. And it cannot be born. It must be made. No matter the connection.”

Geralt’s brow furrows as he processes. It sounds like she’s referencing their soul bond, but that’s chaos, pure and simple. They’re bound by Destiny. Aren’t they?

“Are you talking about soulmates?”

“My dove has chosen wisely.”

Dove? 

“Soulmates may be tied by Destiny, but so is freewill. Chaos did not make you choose him nor him choose you, but an honest want. A simple desire to see and be seen.”

“I know. Jaskier explained all of that.”

She raises her fingers and gently places them on his chest. “You are seen Geralt of Rivia. And now, you too will see.”

Chaos rushes through him as his chest warms underneath his touch. It heats up, burning as he yells in agony at the pain. His mark feels like it’s peeling off. But it is short lived. The pain vanishes as quick as it came, disappearing as her fingers go.

“Take care of him witcher. He may be half elf, but he is also half human. Fearless but easy to break.”

“I cannot promise I won’t do something foolish and hurt him. But it will never be willingly.”

Her lips quirk. “Wise indeed.” And with a flash she’s gone, leaving him all alone in the woods. 

 

 


 

 

Jaskier meanwhile finishes the final touches on the venue. With a satisfying grin he takes a step off of the platform, taking in the entire sight. It’s…gods it’s breathtaking. He’s truly outdone himself.

“Thank you gentlemen and Triss. You’ve all been absolute gems. Go and rest. Tomorrows a big day!”

Lambert grumbles something unflattering about Jaskier as he leaves. Eskel simply shakes his head and follows, waving goodbye as he does so.

“You coming over tonight? Since you and Geralt aren’t going to be seeing each other until tomorrow?”

“That sounds good. Let me just grab things from my room and I’ll be over there in a jiffy.”

“Sounds good. See you soon!”

“Bye Triss. And thank you again.”

She shrugs. “It’s going to be magical tomorrow. I was totally happy to help.”

She leaves Jaskier alone then. He watches her go, before looking around the site again. He collapses into a chair, slightly exhausted from the work but thrilled about tomorrow.

He’s marrying Geralt. And to think, he never knew if he would ever meet his soulmate and now he’s marrying them. Blessed be Destiny.

“Hello my dove.”

Jaskier whips around to see his mother walking down the aisle. She is, as always, a breathtaking specimen, dressed in true fae galore. She truly is a sight to behold. He’s glad no one else is around to see it.

“Mother. What…what are you doing here? I thought you hated human traditions.”

She sits down beside him. “I do. But you do not. I wanted to see you before you wed.”

“Thank you. I am flabbergasted but the good kind.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

Jaskier pauses at the mischievous glint in her eye. The wheels turn before he realizes why she’s actually here and it makes him shake his head. Always trickery with her.

“You talked to Geralt, didn’t you.”

Her smile confirms it. “Mother, please tell me you didn’t threaten to disembowel him, or god forbid make him a servant to the summer court.”

She waves off his worry. “I did no such thing. And I would not have claim over him if he ever steps foot in our court. You know he belongs to you and you alone.”

His lips perk up at that. “True.”

“I came to give you a blessing.”

“Oh?” He sits straighter in his seat, raptly focused on her. “What kind of blessing?”

She takes his arm, the one where his scar is and gently traces over it. “I cannot restore your memory, for that belongs to the chaos inside of you. But I can restore something else. This will hurt my dove.”

“Mother what are you—”

“Shh.” She closes his eyes. “Sing in your head my dove. This will be over soon.”

A searing pain shoots through him, igniting his scar as if it were being burned all over again. He bites his lips, blood pumping out from the indent as he holds in a scream.

It’s over quickly, just as his mother said it would be. He blinks his eyes open gasping in relief. “Bloody hell.”

His mother strokes his cheek, her smile fond as she presses her forehead to his. “You have chosen wisely my dove.”

“I have.” Tears begin to bubble in his eyes.

“I am proud of you. And my blessing will occur once the union has been created. Only then will you see what you have forgotten.”

“Thank you.”

“I must go now. Call if you need anything, but I doubt you will for quite some time.”

“I will always need my mother.”

“You are too kind.” She kisses his forehead as she vanishes, her lips leaving a lingering presence despite her form no longer beside him. Jaskier tenderly touches the place on his head, his smile full of love for the woman who birthed him before he sighs. He is eager to see his mother’s magic come to fruition though he believes he knows what exactly she’s done.

But it will need to be just the two of them. Jaskier doesn’t want to share this with anyone else.

So he keeps what happened in the gardens to himself as he makes his way to his room, packs his things for the night and goes to the girls to celebrate his upcoming nuptials.

Tomorrow is going to be a beautiful day.

 

 


 

 

The Wedding:

Geralt adjusts his clothes in nervousness. The cuffs are twisted back and forth, the collar flattened constantly, the lapel shifting to change positions. He isn’t a wreck, Lambert can fuck off with his accusations but as he fiddles with the cuffs once more, he can feel Jaskier send calming waves to him and he immediately relaxes, a quirk in his lips.

“Looking good Geralt.”

Lambert comes in, his tie undone and hanging around his neck, the collar sticking up, and his cuff links jingling in his hand.

“You should finish getting dressed. We’re starting soon.”

“Nah. Aidan likes the roguish charm.”

“Maybe. But Jaskier doesn’t so fucking fix it.”

Lambert rolls his eyes, sitting into a chair as he does what Geralt asked. Eskel enters in shortly after, his own suit immaculate. It makes Geralt feel a little unkempt.

“You two clean up nice.”

“Fuck off Eskel.”

“Shame the wedding won’t shut up your potty mouth though Lambert.”

He gives him the finger. Eskel lets out a sigh as he sits across from his younger sibling and Geralt just watches the two with a fond smile, thankful that his brothers are here with him on this day.

“So, Geralt, are you and Jaskier moving out of the keep?”

“Yeah. We’ll be around in the winter but the rest of the year we’ll be in his place.”

“I bet he’s glad to be able to resume his normal schedule now that the crazy stalker’s been caught.”

“Hm.”

“Took a while to find that fucker but eventually we did.” Lambert says as he finishes fixing his lapel. Vesemir comes into the room as the brothers discuss Geralt’s and Jaskier’s move, holding a tray with four glasses of whiskey.

“No white gull?”

“I’ll not have you drunk on your brother’s wedding Lambert.”

“Thanks Vesemir.” Eskel grabs a glass. “A toast shall we?”

The rest of the witchers take a glass and raise it in the air. Eskel smiles at Geralt when he speaks. “To Geralt, who found himself a partner and the one who will drive him crazy for the rest of his days.”

“Hear hear!” shouts Lambert as Eskel finishes. The group all chuckles as they drink and Geralt can only feel fondness bloom in his chest, right where Jaskier’s mother had placed her fingers the day before, right over his soul mark.

Which he can’t see. She claimed he would see something, and he had assumed it revolved around his mark but all that appears in his vision is the white scar. It’s as if nothing has changed.

But he had felt the chaos. It had burned through him, almost like a cleansing of sorts. However, the mark remains unscathed.

“Oh! Geralt, this is for you.”

Eskel reaches into his coat and hands over an envelope to the witcher, who takes it gratefully and moves to the balcony to read it alone. He knows it’s from Jaskier (of course he’d want to say something personal since they had agreed on traditional vows).

The letter begins the way all of Jaskier’s letters do. A lot of swirls and loops accompanied by a scent of sandalwood and mint.

Dearheart,

Today is the day! How exciting that we will finally be able to show the world that I belong to you and you to me. I never thought I’d have this day. The day where I would wed my soulmate.

You are, everything I dreamed of and more. When I imagined what kind of person you would be, I always envisioned a strapping man, with golden locks that shined as bright as the sun, eyes that rivalled the finest gemstones and who could kiss all my fears away.

You are all of this. Your eyes remind me of my mother’s golden rings that make all women swoon, your hair is silky upon touch and when I caress my fingers through it, it reminds me of gliding through a river, and your muscles, well. You know how much I enjoy those.

But truly the most glorious thing I can praise and be utterly thankful for is your wonderfully large cock which…

Geralt laughs as the next two pages are solely devoted to describing the various ways in which Jaskier enjoys sex with him in excruciating detail. Soon though he gets to the end of the letter which has resume its sweet words.

I love you Geralt. And I am beyond the moon with us making this union official. Now, before I meet you I know my mother visited you and gave you something. She did this with me as well and told that the blessing would reveal itself once our union is established. If it’s what I think it is, I’d like to just be us, to look. I can’t imagine you disagreeing but do let me know when I see you at the end of the aisle.

Love,

Jaskier

Geralt smiles as he folds the letter back up, walking into the room where his family is gabbing amongst themselves. His face must set something off in Lambert who bounds forward reaching for the letter. Geralt senses his approach and ducks out of the way. The two scrap a bit before he throws it into the fire to get it away from his younger sibling.

“Fuck.”

Lambert straightens himself out. “You’re a fucking spoilsport.”

“It was none of your business.”

“Maybe. Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t have been fun to tease the hell out of you.”

“Fuck off.”

“Boys settle down. We need to get going. The ceremony is to begin soon. Come along.”

Vesemir ushers everyone out of the room and down to the gardens, where everything will be happening in just a few moments.

 

 


 

 

Jaskier sits rigidly as Triss dusts his cheeks with blush. They all woke up early to get ready, Yennefer working on his hair as the redhead fixes his face. Ciri and Dara have joined them, both on the bed in their outfits chattering about all things teen.

Faint melodies play in the room as everyone gets ready, soothing away the nerves and bringing forth eager anticipation. Triss hums along as she works, Yennefer smiles fondly along with the woman, her ring glinting sharply in the sun’s rays.

“So, how are you feeling?” Triss asks, tilting his chin left to right.

“I can’t even begin to describe how excited I am.”

“Good. And you said the clothes you’re wearing…those are traditional elvish designs?”

“Well. To a certain extent yes. The summer court tends to dress in lighter colours and floral patterns. This gown is more of a modern take. I had one of my favourite designer’s create it.”

“It’s beautiful. You’ll be radiant.”

“Indeed. Thank you by the way, all of you, for being here and bringing us together.”

Yennefer smiles at Jaskier in the mirror who grins in return. “I speak for all of us when I say you’re welcome.”

Warmth spreads through Jaskier as he basks in the love all these people have for him and he for them. They are truly marvelous.

“Okay. You’re face is a done.”

“The hair too.”

“Excellent. Time for the gown then.”

He leaves the chair and with nimble fingers, removes the dress from the hanger. “I may need some help.”

Triss chuckles, going to his aid and helping him into the cumbersome piece. His head pops through, then his arms shooting down. Yennefer comes around and adjusts the train while cleverly drinking wine, so she doesn’t spill it.

“Jas, you’re so stunning!”

“Thank you princess.”

“Dad’s jaw is going to drop.”

Yennefer raises an eyebrow. “I think it’ll do more than that.”

“Hun, children present.”

“Relax Triss. Nothing she hasn’t heard before.”

The redhead rolls her eyes as she adjusts the belt around Jaskier’s waist. She tightens it accordingly, before going over to the jewelry and adding it to the ensemble.

“There. All done.”

Jaskier hugs her in gratitude and then stands before the mirror. Gods, he had imagined his beauty on his day, but his reflection doesn’t even compare to the image he had created. He is far more ethereal. His fae features are prominent as he strips the glamour away, ears finally pointed, his cornflowers brighter, and his skin illuminated by moonlight despite it being daytime.

“Holy fuck.”

“Ciri.”

“That wasn’t me. That was Dara.”

Jaskier turns as the elf’s eyes widen. “You’re an elf.”

“Half.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Not many do.”

“Cool.”

Triss snorts. “That was anti-climactic. Anyway, we should get down there now. Oh! Geralt wanted me to give you this.”

Jaskier takes the outstretched envelope. “He wrote me a letter.” He blissfully sighs. Yennefer snorts and links her arm with Triss. “We’ll leave you to it. Ciri, Dara, let’s get settled for the ceremony.”

The teens follow the two women out of the room while Jaskier sits back down. He can just picture Geralt trying to convey his thoughts and feelings into words. The letter probably won’t be as long as his but the fact that Geralt wrote anything is a wonder.

He sends gratefulness to the witcher and in response, feels the man’s love grow infinitely for him. Gods, Jaskier can’t wait to marry this man.

Jaskier,

I’m not good with words, so I won’t spend too long on this, but I knew I needed to write you something since we aren’t doing personal vows.

I always was a lone wolf. I had no desire for partnership and since I never knew what my mark was, figured a soulmate was a fool’s errand. So I never entertained the idea of one.

Then you came along. And threw every understanding of the bonds underneath the rug. You may have caused my anchor to switch but you’ve been a far greater anchor than Yen ever was because you see me as a man, not a witcher. I am eternally grateful to whatever higher power gave me you.

I’ll see you at the end of the aisle.

~ Geralt

The man may not be the most eloquent, but he certainly knows how to send Jaskier into a romantical tizzy. He strokes the penmanship before placing the letter to the side, bunching up his gown and moving to the gardens.

It’s time to marry his soulmate.

 

 


 

 

Geralt stands at the end of the aisle, illuminated by an enormous tree that has icicle lights hanging throughout it’s branches. Yen’s spelled the environment to be darker despite it being day for “dramatic effect” at the request of Jaskier.

The witcher has anticipation rushing through his veins, his eyes occasionally glancing over to the entrance to the venue. He can see Aidan sitting with Lambert, his head resting on the witcher’s shoulder. Priscilla’s with Eskel, their hands entwined. She throws Geralt a wink when their eyes connect. Ciri and Dara are across from them, speaking in hushed tones and glancing around snickering. Triss is with Yennefer, who is fussing over her dress until the redhead swats her hand away. Shani, Jaskier’s agent is there too, texting away something on her phone. Jaskier insisted she should come since she was, in a way, the catalyst for their union.

Geralt couldn’t find it in himself to argue.

Vesemir stands with his large tome at the front right next to Geralt. Geralt can’t tell if he’s excited or frustrated with how long Jaskier is taking. Though, that might just be him.

“Are you ready son?”

Geralt casts over to Vesemir, who’s eyes are silently communicating that they’re ready to go.

“Yes.”

He nods, coughs, and gestures to the tiny audience to stand. Movements rustle as fancy clothes brush against other fabrics and furniture. Then, it’s silent.

Music slowly comes to life and with it, pixies who are tranced to waltz around the group as gold sparkles trickle down from their wings. Their movement are graceful, swaying in large circles and bringing the attention to where Jaskier stands, otherworldly underneath all the lights.

Geralt is struck speechless. He has no words. His eyes are captivated by the vision that his mate is, who moves slowly towards him.

He steps onto the raised platform, demure before the witcher.

“Handsome as always.” Geralt can only take his hand and kiss the inside of his wrist, to communicate how he’s feeling. He knows Jaskier can feel everything inside of him anyway, but the action still makes him beam.

“Ready to begin?” Vesemir waits patiently for their answers.

“Yes.” Geralt shares a smile with Jaskier. And then Vesemir begins.

The ceremony isn’t anything grand or long, despite the size of where they stand. But it is intimate, the pair’s hand clasped together for the entire time, repeating the vows to one another after Vesemir states them. They place their rings on the correct finger and their eyes never waver from each other as the ceremony goes on.

“You may now seal your union with a kiss.”

Geralt smiles, letting go of Jaskier’s hands to clasp his face and kisses him, pouring all that he feels for this man into it. He can sense his mate tremble underneath the affection but rebound quickly, returning with fervor. As he does, a spark of chaos erupts where is mark is and carries a strange warmth throughout his entire body. The group launches into applauses with hooting and hollering as Geralt and Jaskier pull away.

“I love you.” Jaskier whispers.

“I love you too.”

“Want to flee this?”

“Very much.”

Jaskier grabs Geralt’s hand and dashes down the aisle, laughing along with everyone’s cheer as the witcher stumbles behind. The pair make their escape by going further into the gardens and settling down on a stone bench amongst the rose bushes.

They sit in a satisfying silence, basking in each other’s presence and their hand entwined, with Jaskier resting his head on Geralt’s frame. He can’t believe they made it here, together, now untied through matrimony and chaos.

"I got your letter."

Jaskier perks up. "And?"

"Five pages Jas?"

"Oh fuck you. That was some of my best work."

"Two pages were devoted to my cock."

"And it is absolutely lovely and should have had more."

"I had to burn it so Lambert wouldn't read it."

"Ah. Well. Occupational hazard I suppose."

"Thank you. You are...I know I never thought this could be mine. And I know I've always refuted Destiny."

"Like an idiot."

"Shush."

"Shushing."

“But, she gave me you. And for that, I will only ever be grateful.”

“Mm. I’m sure she loves hearing that.”

Geralt chuckles, lightly kissing his mate. His chest hums in satisfaction upon feeling Jaskier’s arousal spike but he settles it down. He has something else to focus on.

“Did you feel something? When we kissed?”

Jaskier shifts backwards a bit. “I did. I believe it to be my mother’s blessing. I think she may have reversed the scars. We might be able to see what our marks say now.”

Geralt hums. He isn’t sure how he feels about checking the mark. Deep down, he knows Jaskier is his, mind, body, and soul. But if the mark has different words scrawled across…would Jaskier still wish to be with him?

His mate seems to be going through the same thoughts if his face is anything to go by. His brow has furrowed, his fingers dancing with each other in anxiousness. Geralt grasps them to ease his mind.

“Do you? Want to check?”

Jaskier sighs. “Honestly? No.”

Relief floods Geralt. They’re on the same page.

“You are mine. I don’t need a set of words to tell me that. My mother may have given us the opportunity to confirm it but that’s just it. Like soulmates, it’s a choice. And I choose you. Every time.”

"Me too. I cannot think of anyone else I would rather spend eternity with. Soulmate or not, I would have chosen you."

“Then it’s settled. We don’t look. We don’t need to.”

“No. We don’t.”

The pair kiss again, deeply, and unfathomably full of adoration for the other. And underneath their clothes, two white marks illuminate.

I just love how you stand there and brood.

You here alone?

Then they fade, leaving nothing but unblemished skin.

The blessing fulfilled as two souls choose the other, forever bound by Destiny.  

 

 


Outfit Inspiration: 

Wedding Edition

 

Venue: 

 

Jaskier: 

 

 

Geralt: 

 

 

Yennefer: 

 

Triss: 

Eskel: 

 

Lambert: 

 

 

Ciri: 

 

Vesemir: 

 

Dara: 

 

Priscilla: 

Shani: 

Aidan: 

 

 

Notes:

At that's the end.

Thank you for all the love given to this fic. I was worried people wouldn't enjoy it, but you've proved me wrong! I am grateful to each and every one of you who commented, gave kudos, subscribed and bookmarked. Y'all are the real MVPs.

I do have another Geraskier fic I'm hoping to bring to light soon. But seeing as I'm in school I'm not sure how quick I can get it started. Hopefully soon! It's called The Winter Woods so keep an eye out for it!

Thank you all again. You're gems and I am over the moon about you.

Catch you on the flip side.

~ Fungumunguss

Notes:

Inspired by Batshit by Lights x MYTH. It's a banger, check it out.