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queenxxxsupreme · 3 years ago

Note

If you feel comfortable, may I please request something where Netflix Coen brings his lady and her two kiddos to Kaer Mohren for the winter? Thank you so much for everything you've written so far <3

Also yes the did butcher Eskel and I was so disappointed.

A/N: I probably most likely completely butchered his character.... But I really really liked the idea and I really wanted to write for him! So I had to start somewhere! Someone who knows Coen better than me, please feel free to critique things!

Note: The name "Odie" in this fic is pronounced "Oh-dee" or at least that's how I pronounced it :)

The wind whipped around you, bringing with it a bitter chill that threatened to freeze you to the bones.

“Are we almost there?” Your youngest whined. You could feel Edda shivering from the cold.

“We’re nearly there.” Coen spoke from your left. He sat atop his buckskin mare named Alder with your eldest, Odette, riding with him.

“Keep your nose covered, Odie.” You told your daughter, taking note of the way her scarf was falling from her face.

You checked Edda’s scarf, adjusting it to make sure it would keep her warm.

The young six-year-old looked over to her sister and to Coen.

“Why doesn’t Coen have to cover his nose?” She huffed.

“I won’t freeze like you ladies will.” Coen told her.

Edda leaned back against your chest with a huff. She was growing tired of riding, and it was hard to be able to relax with the freezing temperatures.

“We’ve been traveling since morning, Coen.” You spoke quietly, turning your head so you could meet his gaze. “The girls are getting tired.

“I know, sunshine. I promise, we are almost there.”

***

Within less than an hour, the two horses were approaching a large stone structure mostly hidden into the side of a mountain. Snow covered the stone in a generous layer of white.

Your eyes carefully glided along the structure, taking note of a few places where there seemed to be torches lit.

The movement of something near a torch caught your attention. You gripped the reins tighter, searching the area above the wall for any more movement.

“What is it, Y/N?” Coen asked you. He could hear your heart pick up pace just a little and the way your breathing changed ever so slightly.

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head softly.

“I thought I saw something.”

“Where?” Edda sat up straight, pivoting her head back and forth as she searched for whatever you had seen.

“On top of the wall over there.”

“Probably just someone keeping watch.” Coen explained.

“There’s people where we’re going?” Odette looked over her shoulder to him.

“Not many, but there are a few.”

Once inside the first set of walls to the School of the Wolf, Coen slipped down from his horse and walked her in the direction of the stables.

You followed behind him. Your eyes flickered ahead of Coen, noticing a few horses in the stables that Coen was leading you to.

There were four horses in total: a chestnut mare, a black bay gelding, a gray gelding, and a piebald mare.

“Look at the horses, Edda!” Odette exclaimed.

“Whose horses are those, Coen?” Edda couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of the beautiful animals.

“My brothers. Maybe tomorrow I can properly introduce you girls to them.” Coen tethered Alder to a hitching post inside the shelter. He then turned and lifted Odette off of Alder’s back.

“Why not right now?” Edda frowned at him as he approached her to help her down as well.

“Because I don’t think you want to freeze your toes off now, do you?” Coen placed Edda on her feet and then looked down at her for a moment before bringing his eyes to you. “Besides, I think momma’s tired.”

You smiled just a little as you tried to hide your yawn with your hand.

Coen took your hands and let you slip down from your horse, Bee.

“But Coen–!”

“Edda.” You cut her off. “It is late. We don’t need to be out here too much longer.”

“Come on, Edda.” Coen put his hand on her shoulder and ushered her in the direction of the main doors.

“Are you sure it’s okay that we are here?” You spoke quietly as you walked alongside your witcher.

The two girls walked just ahead of you. You kept your eyes on them until Coen’s hand found your arm. He stopped you from walking and made you turn to face him.

“Stop worrying, sunshine.”

“I just don’t want to be unwelcomed.” You admitted.

“Wherever I am, you are welcomed.” He leaned down to kiss your head. “I sent a raven to Vesemir before we left telling him what was happening. I am sure he’s told the others.”

You said nothing, turning your head to find your girls.

“Y/N.” Coen turned your head back to him with gentle but cold fingers. “What has you scared?”

“I’m not scared.”

“Nice try. I can smell it on you, sunshine.”

You looked up at him, quiet for a few moments.

“I just…. I’m nervous about meeting them. Your family. There’s so much that could go wrong. I just don’t want them to dislike us.”

“They won’t dislike you, because I love you.” He kissed your head once more. “Come on now. Let’s go before you freeze.”

***

Coen pushed the large and heavy wooden door to the keep open, then held it for your daughters and yourself.

Edda and Odette both came to near immediate stops once they were inside of the keep.

In the large room were multiple tables. Most of them were empty.

A crowd of people sat at one of the tables, their loud chatter coming to a silence as the front door shut with a deep thud.

Silence filled the room. Your stomach churned with anxiety. You looked around from face to face.

This was Coen’s family.

“Fucking finally!” The man with curly red hair spoke first, his voice booming and echoing off of the high walls. The sound startled Odette and Edda, making them jump. “Thought you were gonna take until the next plague to fucking get here, Coen, you whoreson!”

“I planned to be here earlier, but I’m here now.”

“And who have you brought with you?” The eldest appearing man with gray hair approached Coen.

“Y/N of Brugge, and her girls, Odette and Edda.” Coen gestured to each of you as he said your names.

The redhead smacked the dark haired man with scarring on his face in the shoulder, a look of disbelief crossing the former’s face.

“That’s her, Eskel! That’s Sunshine!”

“You’re shittin’ me.” The dark haired one, Eskel, looked at you in disbelief, a smirk coming to his lips. “Good to finally put a face with all the stories, Little Miss Sunshine.”

“Who the hell is ‘sunshine?’” The other dark haired man asked. He was dressed in clothes that were much brighter than the other men’s.

“Don’t ask–,” Coen started, shaking his head but Geralt cut him off.

“Sunshine is the only name Coen’s ever given to a woman he’s been sharing stories about for the last four years.”

“Welcome home, wolf.” The older man with gray hair said. “I’m glad you made it safely.”

“Didn’t expect such shit weather so early in the winter.” Coen shook his head.

“Heard that this winter’s gonna be a nasty one.” Eskel told him.

“Just what we fucking need.” Coen muttered. “I’ve brought Y/N and her two here ‘cause I didn’t want to leave them for the winter. Nilfgard is closing in, and I didn’t feel comfortable leaving them in Brugge for the winter.”

“We’ll need to work on a room for the children. I’m sure you all are tired from your travels.” The elder witcher smiled at you.

“We are.” You nodded softly, placing your hand on Odette’s shoulder. “We appreciate your generosity greatly.”

“No need for any of that.” The witcher shook his head. “My apologies, but better introductions will be made in the morning. Your younguns should probably get to bed.”

“This way, Y/N.” Coen nodded for you to follow him.

You ushered the girls in his direction.

“Coen, a moment please?” Geralt moved to walk with his brother. “If it would be alright with the girls’ mother, they could sleep in the room with Cirilla.”

Coen came to a stop, his eyes widening.

“She’s here?”

Geralt shook his head, eyes closing for a moment.

“It’s a long story. But the offer is there. She’s in a room by herself down the hall from Lambert.”

“I’ll let Y/N know. Thanks.”

You watched as the White Wolf returned to the table the witchers had previously been at.

***

“I heard what Geralt said.” You spoke quietly to Coen as the girls walked just ahead of you both down the hall. “Who is Cirilla?”

He let out a sigh, his free hand coming to rub his face. One of his arms was linked with yours, elbows interlocked as he walked you through the halls of Kaer Morhen.

“Geralt’s Child Surprise. Princess of Cintra.”

You turned your head sharply to look at Coen, brows furrowed.

“The Princess? I-I thought she died in the sacking.”

“I thought so too. But I suppose not. Would you be okay with the girls staying in a separate room?”

You didn’t answer him immediately, your eyes finding the backs of your daughters’ heads.

Coen followed your gaze. His hand came up to your arm.

“You can say no, sunshine.”

You looked at him, guilt festering inside your stomach.

“I-I just don’t want them away from me on the first night, Coen. It isn’t because of where we are. I just…. You know how Edda with her nightmares and I’d hate to bother someone with them.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of your head. He understood your concerns with Edda. The poor girl was plagued with terrible nightmares, so much so that often times she would crawl into bed with her sister or with you in hopes to keep them at bay. Sometimes the nightmares could cause her to get so vocal that everyone in the entire home could hear her and were awoken.

***

Coen pushed the door to his room open and signed Igni into the hearth.

“You gals can have my room for the night. It’s far cleaner than any of the uninhabited rooms.”

“This is clean?” Edda furrowed her brow as she looked around. Odette nudged her in the arm.

“My apologies, my lady.” Coen smiled as he looked down at her. “This castle is hundreds of years old and until recently, has only ever had men living inside it. All of us are filthy.”

“I disagree with that statement.” Eskel commented as he walked by the doorway to go to his room.

The two girls giggled.

“Where will you stay for the night?” You asked Coen, taking note of the bed that would already be a very tight squeeze for you and the two girls.

“I don’t know that I’m going to get much sleep tonight.” He admitted, moving to place his hand on your arm so he could lean in for a brief kiss. “First nights at the keep are always a bit…. Rowdy. I’ll make sure we keep it down.”

“Rowdy?” Odette repeated.

“Yes, rowdy. Sharing stories, recounting what’s happened since the last winter, telling jokes. Sometimes there’s fighting. There was once singing too.” Coen nodded his head. “But you three need your rest.

“You do too.” You told him.

He held your gaze for a few heartbeats, a smile coming to his lips.

“I’m glad you’re here, you know?”

You returned the smile, your hand coming up to brush over Odette’s hair since she was closest to you.

“I know. Have fun down there, Coen.”

“Always do, sunshine. Sleep tight, girls.”

You watched as he left, closing the door behind himself.

“Come on, girls. Let’s get some sleep. This winter is going to be one for the books.”

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If your name is in italics, it wouldn't let me tag you:(

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years ago

Text

Out from the cold (Llewyn Davis x reader)

Summary: Llewyn (precious baby) needs your comfort, and oddly, looking after him comforts you too. Fluff but a lil angst to get to the comfort.

Author’s note: I’m doing soft blurbs bc you all deserve a hug from one of our fave fictional husbands. Let’s all destress and be comforted one blurb at a time, okay? (Dunno how many I can do but gonna try and blitz a few requests out tonight. I’m doing these quickly so they’ll be a bit scrappy, please forgive!) ALSO THIS IS EXCITING I’VE NEVER WRITTEN LLEWYN BEFORE AND I’M KINDA HAPPY WITH IT! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK? (I love this movie so much, one of my all-time favourites, and one of my fave Oscar performances.)

Warnings: just Llewyn swearing, as per. Alcohol and cigs. No drunkeness. Mentions of homeessness / couch-surfing. Mention of abortion.

GIF by @digginmovies

It’s late when he shows up at your door. Or rather, it’s late when you find him in your hallway. You don’t know how long he’s been standing there, because he didn’t even knock. Perhaps he was too afraid to, but by the time you eventually stopped pacing your floorboards and threw a scarf around you, you’d come to fear the worst; that he’d been beaten and left in a gutter or some doorway, or perhpas that he was just stubbornly wandering the streets, preferring to freeze to death rather than “bother” you. Or worse than that... perhaps he’d finally struck lucky and you’d never see him again. Now that he no longer needed your couch, maybe he no longer needed you.

Anyway, all of your fears were entirely unfounded, and it was a shock to find him there, leaning up against the wall. The shortest missing person recovery mission ever known.

“Llewyn?” you question, sighing in frustration and unwrapping your suddenly suffocating red scarf.

His whole body is an apology as he turns his head towards you. Eyes apologetic. Shoulders apologetic. That sorry cord jacket is very, very sorry indeed. Hell, even his curls slump over his forehead in a despondent way, as if they’ve given up too.

This precious man. Why doesn’t he know how special he is? Why does he always dwell in the shadows, rather than allowing himself to be welcomed into this warm, light-bathed apartment of yours. Why doesn’t he realise that he is a light himself, and not a burden? That his presence alone can furnish and illuminate any room. Can compel audiences and, certainly, can move you to train your eyes on him as if he is a star under a perpetual spotlight.

Well, you suppose you should just be thankful that he’s here at all, because he always seems an instant away from slipping into shadow and never coming out again. You are thankful. You are always thankful to find him on your doorstep.

“How did it go?” you ask him, and Llewyn pushes himself up from the wall, despondently shaking his head. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and simply stands there as if forgetting any purpose which might cause him to move. You have to shuffle forwards yourself to give him the hug you feel he so desperately needs, even if he doesn’t know he deserves it. You wrap you arms around him, and it’s a little awkward, and he’s stiff, and he feels of wool and cord beneath your fingertips. Smells of frost and cigarette smoke, and like he hasn’t managed to run his clothes through the laundry in a few days. You make a note to do that for him, if you can coax him into a warm bath later.

“Can I please stay with you?” Llewyn asks in a small voice.

You don’t let go of him, willing him to soften against you.

“Llewyn, you dont have to ask me that, you live here.” You say it like it’s obvious, yet this simple fact is something you are endlessly trying to convince him of.

“I sleep on your couch, because I have no fucking money. Because I’m a piece of shit musician who can’t book a gig except for the Gaslight. And that’s only because I knocked-up a chick who gets me a slot out of pity some nights because she aborted my baby.”

“Llewyn!” you say, heartbroken and disbelieving that he could talk about himself in such a way, and looking, in your shock, like you might come for a piece of him too for thinking so little of himself. But, the world keeps kicking this poor man when he’s down, and he’s running out of energy to keep getting back up, so there’s something in you which can’t blame him.

“I’m just tired. I’m just so fuckin’ tired.”

You bring your hands to the sides of his face, that thick, soft beard under your fingertips.

“Llewyn,” you say softly, searching his melancholy eyes. You want to tell him how talented he is, how important. How special, like you have a hundred times before, but he won’t beleive you. Never does. So, instead, you try something you never have before. At least, not while sober. You dip forward and press a chaste kiss to his lips.

You pull away before his lips have time to react, though even if you had lingered, you’re not sure he would have. You swear that man is so touch-starved that he can no longer recognise affection. That he can no longer remember how to move his lips against another’s. You swear he’s too down on himself that he doesn’t remember how to respond to being wanted.

“Come inside. Your lips are like ice,” you say, and it’s true. You only wish you could thaw him.

Llewyn picks up his guitar case and finally follows you inside, taking his familiar spot on the couch and folding his arms around himself, not even taking off his scarf or jacket. Sometimes you worry that his chill goes all the way down to his bones. Just incase it can help with that, you make him some warm tea and wordlessly pass the mug to him.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, leaning forward in his seat as you sit at the other end of the couch from him, watching him gripping the warm beverage in his fingerless gloves like he’s never known a warm touch like it.

You sit quietly next to him and allow him to thaw a little, watching the steam rising from the mug as he takes careful sips. It has begun to lash with rain outside, the percussive sound and howl of wind muffled against the window pane, and pleasantly soothing. At least, it sounds soothing to you; Llewyn probably thinks it’s that dark cloud following him around again.

“Have you eaten?”

“Waffles. Had some Gaslight money left,” he says in monotone, staring intently at a particular spot on your hardwood floor. He didn’t make nutritionally sound choices, it seems, but at least he’s had something.

“Good,” you nod. “And do you want to talk about the audition?”

“Nope,” Llewyn responds dejectedly, popping the “p” emphatically.

When he’s drained the cup he sets it down, eventually unwinding his scarf from around his neck and shuffling off his gloves and jacket. Without all his layers he looks a little like a lost baby bird without its nest, or like a winter tree without it’s covering of leaves.

You take a risk in an attempt to perk him up and head towards the vinyl player, dropping the needle on a record you know he likes. And then, you reseat yourself on the couch, a little closer to him this time.

Llewyn finally turns to you, elbows resting on his thighs, looking just a little less morose. “Got any wine? And cigarettes?”

Now, that you could do.

You oblige him, and before long you are sipping on a glass of red, and you let Llewyn rant freely about the audition he doesn’t want to talk about at his leisure, a cigarette bobbing in-between his lips as he talks, smoke wafting around his face and his hair like the ghost of his own curls. You let him rant about the cookie-cutter, soulless, talentless musicians who make it, and the blood-sucking label execs, and the tasteless consumers, and the whole damn thing, until his shoulders look a little less heavy. A little less apologetic. Until he forgets himself and picks up his guitar and begins to mindlessly pluck and strum away.

He starts to sing under his breath, because he can’t help but sing. Because it comes naturally to him, and suddenly he is the only light in your living room. He is under his own super trouper, against the backdrop of the rainy window pane. Light shining against melancholy.

As lovely as he is to look at, with the way his left cheek tugs up with his words and his brow creases with feeling, you close your eyes as his voice filters through into your bones, making you warm from within.

“I love it when you sing,” you say sincerely, and you don’t know it, but your simple, honest words are music to Llewyn’s ears. Those words are something he hears startingly seldom for a man with a talent like his.

Your eyes are still closed when you hear the chaotic thrum of strings as Llewyn sets the guitar down. Your eyes are still closed as Llewyn kneels before you and slides his hands along your thighs, palms down. Your eyes open just before he dips his head and presses a chaste, smoky kiss to your lips.

Your lips do not react. If Llewyn was too touch-starved to kiss you back earlier, you suppose you are too surprised that he might want you back. You want to kiss him, and apparently he wants to kiss you, but you are singing different bars of the same song. Your timing is all off. So, your lips do not meld with his, no matter how long you’ve waited for this. Wanted it. This time too, his mouth was even warm against yours. His hands warm against you. Thawing.

You smile at him, softly. Catiously. As if you might scare him off. As if he is a wild animal who has dropped to his knees for you.

Instead, he remains as you bring your hands back to either side of his face, and lose yourself in his dark, turbulent stare. It is you who suddenly feels catious, as if he is a storm which might swallow you. Might paint you in licks of grey if you don’t first heal his pain. His eyes are raw. Broken apart, and his beautiful soul so exposed beneath them. No wonder he is so guarded. Feels so vulnerable. His heart is so open and so wounded beneath the expletives and the apathy and the lucklessness, isn’t it? It would be so easy to break, like a lost bird far from its nest.

But this time, he stays. Llewyn simply looks right back into your eyes, for once. And when he undoubtedly notices your evident desire there, all he does is question why you are looking at him at all.

“Why do you want me?” he asks you, plainly, shaking his head softly. He doesn’t say more, but you swear you could guess his thought. You could have any Tom, Dick, or Harry. Or a Chad. Some rich, muscly dude with a centre part and a Corvette. I’m nothing. Nobody.

Your mouth forms a bashful, thin line, and you shrug your shoulders, placing your hands over his palms. You desperately want to show him he is somebody.

“I dunno. Why do you sing, Llewyn? Why do birds make music? I just do. I want you. My soul tells me I should, and I listen.”

He looks sad. So sad, So tired, and so you do the only thing your soul tells you to in this moment. You comfort him. You reach up and tangle your fingers into that mess of crotchet black curls on his head. You stroke him and soothe him, and he gives in to you, burying his head in your lap and letting you touch him. Letting you smooth your hands and your fingers and thumbs over his hair, his neck, his back, his shoulders. He wraps his arms around your lower legs and curls around them, still sat at your feet like a stray who refuses to be a house cat, despite how many times you try to coax him in from out of the cold.

“Llewyn, come lie with me a while?” you ask gently, and he looks up at you, unsure. Still, he clambers up from his position and is about to recline on the sofa when you grab his hand. “No, Llewyn. Come lie with me in my bed?”

He gulps, as if you might eat him alive, but he follows as you guide him as if it might be a relief to climb into your jaws anyway, and you lead him by the hand along the hallway and into your room.

He watches you with hesitant fascination as you shrug off your layers, down to your underwear. Then, he follows suit, letting his worn trousers and white t-shirt pool on to the floor at his feet, until he’s standing in only his patterned boxers.

You climb under the covers, shivering at the autumn chill in the room, and you hold the tented covers open for Llewyn to climb in after you.

“Y-You want me to... W-what do you wanna do?”

“Nothing you don’t want to, darling. But if you’ll let me, I just want to hold you.”

He hesitates, but he’s cold, and so, so alone, and he’s so tired of never having anything he wants. So tired that he’s willing to forget, just this once, that he can’t give you what you deserve. Or at least to stop consciously reminding himself of it.

He slots his soft, slim body under the covers, and you let the blanket fall over him. Then, you lie on your back and pull him on top of you, until his body covers yours and his head nestles on the cushion of your breasts.

It is quiet enough in the room that you hear him gulp again, but he doesn’t bolt. Once he’s settled, your wrap him in your arms, your fingers twining in his hair, carding through those thick, tangled curls. Your hands smooth up and down his back, until he is humming softly, his face entirely buried in your chest. “Sweet man,” you soothe, and listen to the sound of the rain outside, and the background noise of the record player filtering through. “I know it’s not much, but I love it when you sing. I wish I could give you riches for it, and record deals. But all I have to give in return is a little piece of my heart, and you steal a piece of it every time I hear your voice,” you whisper gently.

Llewyn is silent, and you wonder if you might have scared him off, but he seems quite content exactly where he is. You wish he would stay, but you know he has a cycle of houses, like a traitourous street cat with nowhere he feels deserving to call home.

For now though, he is here, and you begin to sing gently along to the song filtering through from the living room. It’s one of your favourites. One which Llewyn has sung for you many times before.

You look down at the side of his face, his eyes closed, his eyelashes fanned on his cheek, and his beard twitching as his full lips tug up into a faint smile. Finally.

“You have a pretty voice, dove,” he says, and your heart clenches at the pet name. At the fact you have finally found a way to make him happy. You should have realised it would be music.

“No, Llewyn. It’s nothing compared to you.”

“I dunno. You probably have more chance of making it than I do. Maybe you should have gone today instead.” You worry that he has been tugged back into a slump, but you see he is still smiling, and you recognise the humour in his tone, self-deprecating though it is.

By the next chorus, Llewyn begins to softly sing along too, and your heart flutters as his voice vibrates against your bosom.

You tug in a deep, happy breath, and exhale spring into the autumn room.

Llewyn props himself on to his elbows and shuffles up the bed, until his face is level with your own.

You regard him catiously, feeling suddenly as flighty as he usually is.

“What do you want to do?” you ask him, as his lips hover close to yours.

“Nothin’ you don’t want to,” he says, mirroring your words from moments ago.

This time, when your lips meet, softly, neither of you are surprised. This time, your mouths are both warm and moving together, like you sing the words to a shared song, both melding in time.

As Llewyn curls around your body and snuggles into you for warmth, you hope you can get him to stay. You hope you’ve showed him he doesn’t need to wander in the cold any longer.

He has your heart after all, and you need him to bring it indoors; out from the cold.

#llewyn x reader #llewyn davis x reader #inside llewyn davis #inside llewyn davis fanfiction #llewyn davis fic #llewyn angst #llewyn fluff #coen brothers #oscar isaac

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nocapesdahling · 3 years ago

Text

Logs on the Fire

Geralt of Rivia x GN! Reader

My Masterlist

Summary: You spend the winter at Kaer Morhen with Geralt.

Rating: M (17+)

Warnings/Tags: Established relationship; Soft! Geralt of Rivia; Implied sexual content; Fluff; Domesticity

A/N: I haven’t seen The Witcher season 2 yet, and can’t wait to watch it. This was inspired by experiencing Kaer Morhen in the games and enjoying exploring during that sequence in Wild Hunt. I also really loved the idea of wintering at Kaer Morhen with Geralt.

Word Count: 1.6k

When Geralt had mentioned joining him at Kaer Morhen for the winter, you had experienced a moment of hesitation before saying yes. This would be your first time joining him there and though you had met Vesemir, Coen, Lambert, and Eskel before and liked them all, this would be your first time spending the entire winter in a secluded area with them. You had also hesitated out of surprise, which you hadn’t even attempted to conceal from Geralt, knowing that he would be able to read it easily. You loved Geralt and you knew that he loved you, but witchers’ strongholds and safe places weren’t something they revealed to just anyone.

As though he could read your mind, and who knew maybe he could?, Geralt chuckled before pressing a kiss into your hair. “You’re not just anyone, and I don’t want to be without you for the winter. Come with me.”

You didn’t put up even a token protest, curious to see Kaer Morhen and smiling to yourself as you imagined spending the winter there with Geralt. “Alright, I’ll pack.”

“Make sure you pack warm enough clothes, love. It’s colder in the mountains.”

You smiled to yourself, even as you made sure to grab your heaviest cloak. “I’ll have you to keep me warm.”

Geralt’s “Hmm” sounded so affectionate that it almost made you laugh. It would be a good winter.

You lay on your stomach, reading on Geralt’s comfortable and warm bed and watching the snow fall thick and fast through the open doors to the balcony. You knew that Geralt would scold you if he saw the doors open, but with the fire the room was warm enough and it was such a beautiful view. How could he blame you?

Geralt had been out training that morning with Vesemir, so you’d had the room to yourself and you couldn’t help but think that you’d never experienced a winter so peaceful or pleasurable. You hadn’t realized that Geralt never felt safe outside Kaer Morhen, not truly. He was always on guard, watchful. When you’d settled in for the winter, you’d watched some of the care and worry disappear from his eyes and face. He’d always be watchful, but here when you were safe in the company of other witchers he let his guard down and he took his time. You’d spent entire days in bed, somehow learning even more things about each other and what you enjoyed, and you’d been right. He did keep you warm.

You watched the snow swirl in the wind outside, feeling yourself begin to doze before you heard footsteps on the stairs. You shook your head in fondness, knowing that the only reason Geralt made noise coming into his room was so he didn’t scare you. You marked your page in your book before jumping off the bed to close the balcony doors. You had gotten one closed and were working on the other when you heard a throat clear behind you.

“How many times have I told you not to open those? You’re going to catch your death.” Geralt’s voice was dry as he watched you stop pulling at the other door. “Then, where would I be?”

You turned and looked at him, taking his expression in. He was joking, but he also wasn’t. He didn’t want to be without you, which worked out because you didn’t want to be without him either. If you had any doubts before this winter, then all of them had faded away. Geralt had let you in in ways he hadn’t before, and you had somehow fallen deeper in love with him.

You sighed, making eye contact with him. “I won’t do it again.”

Geralt stepped closer and clasped your hand, “I know you won’t. Not when I’m not here to keep you warm. Why don’t we have a bath, and we’ll open them again?”

You smiled at him before throwing your arms around his neck, “Really?”

“Yes, really.” He pulled you closer into his body as he buried his nose in your hair, “Let me get the water.”

Geralt had reclined into the tub, which you’d both moved to face the open balcony doors, and you had squeezed in alongside him. Your head rested on his chest as you traced his multitude of scars and watched the snow.

You felt his intake of breath and then heard his deep voice from above you, “You know, I see why you like this now.” Here he paused and moved his hand from the side of the tub to run it up and down your back, “It’s… peaceful.”

You hummed and listened to his heartbeat, luxuriating in the warmth of the water and his body. You liked listening to his heartbeat. It in one small way proved that he wasn’t what everyone said he was. He may be a witcher, but he was also a man. And especially to you, never a “mutant”. You lost yourself in watching the snow swirl through the air outside, feeling your eyes begin to close.

“I’m glad you’re here. With me.” His voice was hesitant as it always was when admitting some kind of emotion.

You smiled against his chest before pushing yourself up as much as you could to look into his yellow eyes, “I’m glad I’m here too, Geralt. I love you.” You knew that he might not say it back, he rarely did, but you knew he loved you in return because he showed you every day. And he called you love any chance he could in private.

He grasped your chin and tilted your head up, kissing you deeply and pouring all the feelings he couldn’t express in words into the kiss. You squirmed on his lap, trying to pull yourself closer in the limited space of the tub and feeling him beginning to react against you.

Geralt pulled away from the kiss and stared at you for a moment before speaking, “Come on, love. As much as I want to make you come here in this tub, the water is going to get cold and the snow is going to get in. And most of all, there’s a bed right there.”

Given Geralt spent most of his time on the Path, when he had access to a bed he liked to use it. You couldn’t help the sigh at him stopping you there, even with the promise of the bed. Then again as you watched him get out of the tub, that wasn’t a bad view either. It never was. He tended to the fire, stoking it and making sure it was large enough to heat the room before walking to close the balcony doors. He stood in front of them, looking out at the snow for a moment, before closing the doors and turning back to you.

“Now, where were we?”

You watched Geralt as you lay next to him by the fire, his arms around you, lazy in your satisfaction. His long white hair had dried in a few knots that hadn’t been helped by your fingers and his face was relaxed. You leaned in and kissed each of his cheekbones then his lips before leaving the warmth of the blankets.

His eyes blinked open, “Where are you going? Come back.”

“I’ll be right back. I’m just getting something.” You went over to the mirror and grabbed your brush before returning to the blankets and the warmth of Geralt. He pulled you in close and wrapped his arms around you, which you enjoyed for a moment before trying to separate yourself. “Geralt. Geralt.”

You knew he was ignoring you. “Geralt, love.”

“Hmm?”

“I want to brush your hair.”

“My hair?” His voice sounded sleepy, but also surprised. You’d never thought of doing this for him before, but now that you had it was all you wanted to do.

“Yes, your hair. I want to take care of you.”

He shifted to holding you in his arms and pushed himself off the floor, ignoring your flailing arms as you attempted to grab his shoulders out of surprise. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but most men wouldn’t have been able to pick you up like that. Then again, even if it sometimes slipped your mind, Geralt wasn’t most men.

He sat you down on the bed and stood for a moment, watching you scoot further onto the bed before patting the edge in front of you. With some hesitation, he settled himself and held himself tense even as he felt you move closer to him. You watched the fire cast shadows onto his face, his expression unreadable.

“I’m sorry I never offered to do this for you before.” You began to brush his hair slowly, taking your time. You hoped that he’d find this as relaxing as you found it. You loved his hair.

The two of you sat in silence for a long time, broken only by your humming of a song your mother used to sing to you as a child, before Geralt spoke.

“I don’t know if anyone’s done this for me before. Taken care of me the way you have. You know that I love you?”

“I do, Geralt. I do. And we take care of each other.”

“We do, love. We do.” He turned his head, so you could see his smile before turning back to face the fire.

You continued brushing his hair, smiling to yourself. This had been the best winter you’d ever had with the best man you’d ever known, and it wasn’t even over yet.

Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

A/N: I have a few other winter and Christmas fics that I’m excited to post and finish writing as well.

I have a SFW Alphabet for Geralt on my Masterlist if you would like more Geralt.

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bethdutten · 3 years ago

Text

out of the woods

eskel x reader

words: 2.2k

warnings: none! just fluff this time 😏

my version of the eskel fix it fic because they did him so dirty and he deserved better. pls love him he knows not what he does!

The doors to Kaer Morhen burst open, and you strode in with wild eyes and blood still on your hands from the royal wyvern you slaughtered an hour ago.

The witchers all stopped and turned to you, smiles on their faces at seeing a familiar friend enter the keep.

“Look who’s here,” Geralt grinned, standing up. You nervously glanced around the room, seeing Lambert, Coen, Vesemir. Your eyes flitted over a girl beside Geralt; must be his Child Surprise. But you were too focused on finding the one face that was missing.

“Eskel. Where is he,” you snapped, rummaging through your bag for the right potions. The blood of the wyvern was crucial, and your magic would do the majority of the work, but you’d need a few more things…

“Nice to see you, too,” Lambert grumbled, raising an eyebrow and turning to look at his brothers. This was the first time you were seeing them in over a year— normally you would have hugged them all by now. But, you’d have come with Eskel if this was normal.

Vesemir rose from his seat, brows furrowed. “My dear?”

“Where the fuck is he? I might already be too late!” you growled, flicking your hair from your face and getting a smear of wyvern blood on your forehead in the process.

Geralt frowned. “Upstairs. But I wouldn’t—“

“Okay, I need you, you, and you,” you pointed at him, Lambert and Coen, “to come with me, now.”

You didn’t wait to see if they listened; you took off for the stairwell, towards Eskel’s room. If they didn’t help, then fuck them— you’d find a way to do it yourself. You were going to do everything in your power to save him, even if it ended up killing you.

But you knew they would follow. It was clear something was very wrong; Geralt had sensed it the moment he saw Eskel. Especially considering you weren’t with him. Although they were all very confused now, it was obviously serious.

“I need you all to hold him down, do not let him move no matter what. He’s going to be in excruciating pain, but if I don’t—“ you paused, taking a shaky breath in, “I just need you to hold him down so I can focus.”

You didn’t bother knocking, barging into Eskel’s room and ignoring Lambert’s call of, “Maybe you shouldn’t—“ before doing so.

Eskel was lounging on his bed, shirtless, with three naked whores in various positions around him. He glared up at the slamming door, his expression changing to one of surprise when he saw it was you.

“Look, it’s not—“

“Get out, now!” you roared at the women, eyes locking on the wound on Eskel’s shoulder. It looked bad. Worse then when you saw him a day ago. The infection was spreading.

The women all scurried around you, and you gave the signal to the witchers behind you— grab him, beg forgiveness later.

Lambert and Geralt each took a side, their hands grounding his shoulders onto the bed. You straddled his waist, letting Coen take his lower body.

“What the fuck is going on?” Eskel hissed, eyes darting between his brothers and you as you took out the vial of wyvern blood and coated the palms of your hands in it. You closed your eyes, remembering the correct incantations as you began the spell.

You placed your hands on the wound, beginning to murmur the spell and allow you magic to leach the infection from his body. Almost instantly, Eskel let out a gut-wrenching scream, jerking to get away from your touch. You winced, focusing on the magic as you felt the infection slowly pull from his wound.

The witchers did well, holding down their brother despite the screams. You opened your eyes to look down at his flesh, watching the infection being pulled out of his body through your hands. You briefly caught a glance at Eskel— there were tears streaming down his face, and he was in such immense pain that he was begging for it to stop, but the infection was so deep, you could feel it still there.

You focused hard, incredibly grateful for the men holding him down now— if you had to use your magic to do it yourself, you wouldn’t be able to concentrate entirely on getting rid of the disease infecting Eskel.

Suddenly, the body beneath you went limp. He had passed out from the pain, finally. You let out a sob of relief, the silence in the room deafening as you felt the last of the infection being drained out of his flesh. The three men slowly released their hold on their brother, taking a step back.

You were left with tears running down your face as you finished the spell, carefully pulling your hands away from his wound.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” you whispered, taking in Eskel’s prone body beneath you, but thankfully free of the infection that almost turned him into something that would have killed him.

“Does he need anything else?” Geralt asked softly.

You glanced over at the other men, almost forgetting they were in the room. You swallowed, looking down at your blood covered hands and shaking your head. “I’ll clean up the wound and give him something to heal it, perhaps a sedative so he can rest. But I’ll take care of it, thank you. All of you.”

Even Lambert was uncharacteristically quiet, just nodding as they left you alone in the room. You had a lot of explaining to do— rushing into the keep after a year away, yelling at everyone and demanding them to restrain their brother while causing blood-curdling screams from him. You were grateful for their trust.

You got up and washed your hands, a few times until all the blood was gone. Then you wet a cloth with warm water and carefully cleaned up Eskel’s wound, breathing a sigh of relief at how much better it already looked. The gash was still deep, but not necrotic like before. You pulled a few potions from your bag, pouring them on to help speed the healing. But tomorrow, you guessed it would look like a three-week old injury.

You brushed back Eskel’s hair from his face, pressing a kiss to the scars under his eye as you gave him one more elixir to help him sleep. There would still be lingering pain for awhile, and you needed him to sleep through the majority of it. Plus, you wanted to be there when he woke.

Once he was tucked in and settled as best you could, you changed into something comfortable and headed downstairs. You were expecting an icy reception, considering how you arrived.

Instead, you were greeted by Geralt rising and pulling you into a hug, squeezing you hard enough to make you cry out in protest.

“Sorry,” he grunted, looking at you with a soft smile. “Just glad you’re here.”

You rolled your eyes, but smiled back brightly. “Glad to see you, too, Geralt.” You peered around him at the girl you’d noticed from before, giving her a warm smile. “And you must be his Child Surprise.”

“Cirilla,” Geralt said once you’d introduced yourself, “This is the woman who keeps Eskel in line.”

The girl gave you a grin back. “You’re already kinder than he was.”

You frown. “Oh, shit. Was he rude to you? I swear, he’s not usually like that. He… he wasn’t himself.”

Lambert huffed at that, having moved over to drape an arm across your shoulders in greeting. “I’d fucking say. What the hell was that?”

“We ran into a Leshy a few days ago. I don’t know what happened. But it infected Eskel somehow. He was acting so strange. Then he ditched me a day ago, and I found some healer in the town we were in who spoke of wyvern’s blood and a spell that worked on something like this once.”

Vesemir hummed from the corner, deep in thought as he took it all in. He saw the way Eskel was acting— he couldn’t deny that something was seriously wrong. A monster infecting a witcher was unheard of, but not impossible.

You shivered slightly, recalling the way Eskel had acted when you tried to clean his wound that night, and waking up to him being gone the next morning. “I thought I would be too late. But I think I got it all.”

“Thank fuck,” Coen murmured, giving you a pat on the back as he collapsed on a stool. “That was some terrifying shit.”

You bit at your bottom lip, glancing around the room. “I apologize for whatever he did or said, before. You all know who he is, and that wasn’t—“ you glanced over at Ciri now, speaking to her, “That wasn’t him.”

Geralt hummed, nodding. “We know. Ciri will know the real him soon enough. Whether that’s any better, remains to be seen,” he joked, affection clear in his eyes.

You gave him a weak smile, the adrenaline of the day suddenly hitting you. “I should go be with him. In case he wakes up.”

You made your rounds of good nights, hugging everyone a little bit tighter than usual, even Ciri. When you got to Eskel’s room, he was still passed out, having rolled on his side and facing the wall.

You slipped out of your clothes, making sure the fire in the small room was well fed before sliding into bed behind him. You nestled your nose between his shoulder and neck, wrapping your arms around his waist as you pulled his chest to your front. You fell into a restless sleep, listening to the sound of him breathing.

•••

“Mhmm,” you groaned, stretched out on the bed as the sunlight hitting your face woke you from your deep sleep. When your squinted your eyes open, you were met with those beautiful amber eyes, Eskel staring at you with a soft smile on his face.

“Baby,” you breathed out, immediately snuggling into his arms and burrowing your face into his neck. You could feel him chuckle as you pressed kisses to his skin, trailing up to to his cheek to linger along his scars, murmuring, “Morning, my love.”

He flinches slightly, like he always did when you touched his scars, but relaxed into your doting easily enough, a lazy grin on his face as you pulled back to look him over.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, eyes flickering down to the bandage on his shoulder.

Eskel sighed, shifting his shoulder back and wincing. “Hurts like a motherfucker. But other than that… a lot better.”

“What do you remember?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, like it did when he was about to say something he wasn’t sure he should. “Like I was stuck behind a glass window in my own body. I could see myself doing things but I couldn’t… stop it. Couldn’t control it.” His eyes met yours, and they were filled with guilt. “I’m so sorry. Those women, I-I can’t believe you even bothered to help me after that.”

You just shook your head, giving him a quick kiss. “I know my Eskel. I know who you are. I knew that wasn’t you.”

He avoided your eyes, unfocused as he glanced around the room. “I still did it,” he said, so quiet you almost missed it. “And how I treated Ciri, fuck, Geralt’s never going to forgive me—“

“Stop it. Are you okay?” you interjected, a hand stroking down the side of his face before it rested on the nape of his neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair, grounding yourself. “You went through a lot, love. Your brothers will understand that. They’re all just worried about you.”

Eskel finally met your eyes, practically leaning into your touch like a cat. He’d always been a little obsessed with your touch— lack of a kind and gentle touch for decades will do that to someone. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

You searched his eyes, looking for any sign he was holding back. After all these years, you could read him so easily. You saw nothing but honesty and… love.

“Yeah? I’m so, so sorry about what we had to do, Eskel. I just… I had to make sure I got it all out.”

“Shh, love.” He cooed, leaning in and cupping your face. Your eyes fluttered shut as he kissed you, his signature consuming and rough kisses giving way to something warmer, unhurried and sweet. He nipped at your bottom lip, earning him a whimper from you let him lick into your mouth, deep and languid.

You only pulled away for air, and you didn’t realize you were crying until Eskel brushed a tear away with his thumb. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You saved my fucking life. Like always. I love you.”

You looked at him with blurry eyes, trying to push down all the thought that he was almost taken from you, you almost lost him, you almost weren’t there in time.

“I love you,” you whispered, moving in to press a soft kiss to the scar that cut through the corner of his lip, grazing your lips along the angry red mark as it moved along his cheek.

Eskel closed his eyes and let you kiss the parts of him he hated the most, letting the warmth in the knowledge that you didn’t see him as a monster settle in his chest. You pulled up the corner of his bandage and peeked at the wound while he was distracted, murmuring against his temple, “Let me make sure this is healing properly, then we should go downstairs for breakfast.

Eskel let out a groan, sinking further into the bed. “Fuck, do I have a lot of apologizing to do.”

#listen I needed this #eskel x reader #eskel fic #netflix!eskel #the witcher fic #eskel #netflix!eskel x reader

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silentcrowsilentravens · 3 years ago

Text

WHO I WRITE FOR // RULES // MASTERLISTS

This is a low-activity blog. I can go months at a time without posting. It doesn't mean I've abandoned it. Life and my motivation levels simply get in the way.

Please don't ask for smut.

By default, I write things as gender ambiguous, but you can request for the reader to be a specific gender identity.

I'll do up to eight characters per request.

Requesting dark things with violence/blood is fine. Angst is fine as well.

Requesting completely goofy/stupid/shitpost-y things is fine.

Requesting something poly is fine.

Requesting platonic things (whether familial or friendly) is fine.

Don't be afraid to be specific! : )

With Resident Evil prompts in particular, if you don’t specify a game or movie alongside a character (e.g. 3 REmake Jill or WTRC Leon) then I’m just going to assume that you’re leaving it up to me to choose.

Games include any Resi title released between the original's debut in 1996 and now, even the non-canon ones. You can also ask for it to take place in the Dead By Daylight universe. Movies include all of the CG releases, the Anderson movies, and Welcome to Raccoon City.

Things I write:

Prompt-based x reader ficlets. Send in a scenario and I'll write a short fic about it. If you want it to be platonic, please specify.

Reactions. Send in something you'd like to see a particular character's reaction to (e.g. reacting to a reader with a particular interest/trait, reacting to a reader ending up in a particular situation). I'll write a bulleted list. If you want it to be platonic, please specify.

Headcanons. Send in specific or general headcanons you would like about one or more characters. I'll write a bulleted list.

If you don't name one of these things in your ask, I'll just assume that you're leaving the format up to me.

Resident Evil

Ada Wong - masterlist here!

Albert Wesker - masterlist here!

Alcina Dimitrescu - masterlist here!

Alex Wesker - masterlist here!

Alyssa Ashcroft - nothing yet.

Alice - masterlist here!

Ark Thompson - masterlist here!

Barry Burton - masterlist here!

Becca Woolett - nothing yet.

Bela Dimitrescu - masterlist here!

Billy Coen - masterlist here!

Brad Vickers -masterlist here!

Bruce McGivern - masterlist here!

Carlos Oliveira - masterlist here!

Cassandra Dimitrescu - masterlist here!

Chris Redfield - masterlist here!

Claire Redfield - masterlist here!

Daniela Dimitrescu - masterlist here!

Daniel Fabron - nothing yet.

Donna Beneviento - masterlist here!

The Duke - nothing yet.

Edward Dewey - masterlist here!

Elena Lupu - masterlist here!

Emily Berkhoff - masterlist here!

Enrico Marini - masterlist here!

Ethan Winters - masterlist here!

Finn Macauley - nothing yet.

Fongling - nothing yet.

Forest Speyer - masterlist here!

Hector Hivers - nothing yet.

Helena Harper - masterlist here!

Ingrid Hunnigan - nothing yet.

Jack Krauser - nothing yet.

Jake Muller - masterlist here!

January Van Sant - masterlist here!

Jessica Sherawat - nothing yet.

Jill Valentine - masterlist here!

Joe Baker - masterlist here!

Joseph Frost - masterlist here!

Josh Stone - nothing yet.

Karl Heisenberg - masterlist here!

Karena LesProux - nothing yet.

Kenneth Sullivan - masterlist here!

Leon Kennedy - masterlist here!

Lucas Baker - masterlist here!

Luis Serra - nothing yet.

Mia Winters - masterlist here!

Moira Burton - nothing yet.

Mother Miranda - masterlist here!

Nikolai Zinoviev - nothing yet.

Parker Luciani - nothing yet.

Piers Nivans - masterlist here!

Rachel Foley - masterlist here!

Raymond Vester - masterlist here!

Rebecca Chambers - masterlist here!

Rain Ocampo - nothing yet.

Richard Aiken - masterlist here!

Salvatore Moreau - masterlist here!

Sheva Alomar - masterlist here!

Zoe Baker - masterlist here!

Child’s Play - masterlist here

Charles “Chucky” Lee Ray

Nica Pierce

Tiffany Valentine

Bendy - masterlist here

Alice Angel (cartoon)

Allison Pendle/Allison Angel

Audrey Drew

Susie Campbell/Twisted Alice

Miscellaneous

Amanda Young - fluff alphabet

Abe Sapien (I no longer write for this character) - masterlist here!

Charlotte Deshayes - masterlist here!

Hellboy (I no longer write for this character) - masterlist here!

#x reader #shut up raven

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senseless-writing · 3 years ago

Text

Something New (3/3)

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x child!reader (oc)

Summary: Geralt happens upon a little girl who has been abandoned in the woods on his journey up to Kaer Morhen. With a storm just days away, and the nearest town nowhere in sight, what is he meant to do with her?

Warnings: A bit of angst, a lot of fluff, nothing horrible :)

A/N: Yes, I’m aware that in the books, Coen’s first winter at Kaer Morhen was the same as Ciri’s. And yes, I know this means that he realistically wouldn’t be as close to the other witchers. I’ve purposely changed this in my story because I love him with all my heart, and Coen erasure pisses me off.

Also, in case anyone is worried, the end of “Something New” is NOT the end of Orion and Geralt. I don’t plan on writing a full story of their time together, because I would probably never finish it. But I will definitely write more one shots or multi-parts such as this one. I’ve got some ideas of my own, but I am more than willing to write requests if they fit into the story I’ve got in my head, so go on and send them in if you have any. There’s so much more of Orion to share!

<< Previously

Masterlist

-----------------------

There had always been a small part of Vesemir that felt the need to look out for Geralt of Rivia.

Or “Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde”, as he’d so stupidly wanted to call himself all those years ago. God, he’d been so young then. So naive and filled with hope, along with the idea that this world was pure enough to welcome him with open arms and gratuitous souls.

The picture of that boy still sat uneasily in Vesemir’s mind. A young man with white hair and lean muscles who was proud of the torture he’d gone through to get them. He thought he was special, that his purpose was greater than the rest. And most of all, he thought everyone would love him for the difference he’d make in the world.

Vesemir had tried to warn him about how wrong he was. But the old witcher knew better than most that it was a lesson everyone had to learn for themselves.

So maybe that’s why he felt this unnerving need to care for him. Perhaps it was because he saw a bit too much of himself in Geralt for his own good. Or maybe it was because he still remembered the day the red-haired sorceress, Visenna, handed the little one over to him.

Either way, whatever the reasoning may be, the feeling has always been there.

When Geralt was young, Vesemir was sure to always keep his mind full of something interesting and new. Things that would save his life, like tips to distinguish one monster from another, or substitute ingredients that would help him make potions in a bind. He taught him just about everything he knew and then some. It was an efficient way, he realized, to distract Geralt from the fear.

He wasn’t naive enough to believe that his methods always worked. Surely Geralt had been just as afraid as anyone else. But at least he tried.

And when Geralt had reached his time of trials and mutations, Vesemir could hardly contain his anxiousness. Not because he feared the boy would lose his life, but because he knew he would survive with great ease. Every teacher knows their student better than the rest, and the old witcher was no exception to such knowledge.

While the boys were undergoing their changes, there’d been talk of a second, more dangerous mutation. It was something Vesemir knew nothing about, but he figured that if any of his boys were going to be subjected to something of this magnitude, it would be Geralt. And in the end, his trepidation was more than justified.

But Geralt survived that too. He was more resilient than the old witcher could have ever imagined.

And even now, after decades of Geralt surviving on his own in the real world, a part of Vesemir still waited for him to walk in the doors of Kaer Morhen every winter. Like with all his boys, the witcher just wanted to know if he was alive. A long life is hard to come by these days.

Despite this, Geralt never made it easier for himself. Vesemir knew his “White Wolf” traveled the continent doing more than simply monster hunting. He was constantly putting himself in positions a witcher should never be in, and pushing the boundaries that separated him from a white knight.

Vesemir knew it wasn’t his fault. Geralt always had that underlying need to do the right thing. He still believed there should be a right and wrong, even if it was nearly impossible to distinguish the two.

It was hard to find the good in a world that was inherently bad, and looking for it had made things incredibly dangerous for the white-haired witcher.

So when Geralt walked through the double doors of the main hall with a little girl attached to his pant leg, “surprised” wasn’t quite the word to describe how Vesemir felt. It was right up Geralt’s alley to attract strays, and even more so to find them a safe and caring place to stay.

But clearly, Lambert felt differently.

“By the Gods, Geralt! You just have to make an entrance, don’t you?”

Orion shrunk into Geralt's legs at the sound of the booming voice, but his firm hands on her shoulders prevented her from cowering behind him altogether.

Geralt gave a small chuckle, pushing her closer to the others in the room. At the center of the hall, near the hearth that was roaring with flames, sat an enormous table suitable for at least ten people. Despite this, only three occupied the space.

The fire illuminated their silhouettes, but Orion could still make out their faces. Each of them frightened her, just as Eskel had, but only for a moment.

“I thought you’d be happier to see me, Lambert. Another person to drive mad with your wit.”

Lambert, as addressed by Geralt, wasn’t an overly remarkable man when it came to his looks. Not too ugly, not too handsome. In fact, you wouldn’t know he was a witcher if it weren’t for his muscular build and wolf medallion.

The witcher’s face was what attracted attention, if only because his features contradicted themselves. His eyes held a sincere sort of fondness as he spoke to Geralt, but his smirk told the story of a man who knew the whole world was beneath him. And apparently, he found it utterly hilarious.

“Ohhhh I am,” Lambert said with a teasing drawl. “Maybe with you here, old man Vesemir will direct all his nagging your way instead of mine.”

The senior in question bristled at his student’s comment.

“Hey. ‘Old man Vesemir’ is sitting right next to you...you’d do best to watch your tone.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever. You see what I mean, Geralt?”

Vesemir was surely the oldest of the witchers in the room, but Orion wasn’t sure if she would call him an “old man”. Sure, he was gray, wrinkly, and slightly shorter than the rest. But even sitting, the little girl could tell that his structure was strong. His posture wasn’t slouched with the impression of someone who couldn’t hold themselves up, and his hands didn’t shake with the brittleness that came with old age.

It was an interesting image. Everything in Kaer Morhen was an interesting image to Orion.

The man sitting next to Vesemir, the final witcher at the table, laughed quietly at their banter.

“It’s good to see you, Geralt,” he said in a soft voice. “Sure has been a while.”

“It has, Coen. I think I owe you an apology for leaving you alone with these boys for so long.”

Orion decided that Coen was the youngest and oddest looking witcher of the lot. He had a soft face and unusually yellow-green irises. The whites of his eyes were the only testament that these witchers had once been human. They were riddled with red threads, as if the blood vessels had popped during his mutations and forever cemented that way.

But he had a smile unlike all the others. One that was real and came from the soul, not one that was practiced and performed for the comfort of others.

“Eh, they’re not all bad. Besides,” Coen shrugged, raising his mug to Geralt. “The ale’s free.”

It was clear that Coen wasn’t as familiar with the others as they were with each other, but none of them cared much about that. They were all witchers, after all, and that made them family.

Brothers in all the ways that mattered.

Before anyone could laugh or jest a moment longer, Vesemir stood, encasing the hall in an expectant silence. It seemed their mentor had grown tired of the niceties.

“Are you forgetting something Geralt? Along with an apology for Coen, it appears you owe the rest of us an introduction.”

Orion had become so comfortable with the atmosphere around her, she’d barely had the sense to feel embarrassed about being forgotten. This place, it was big and scary and new. But when these witchers were together, they radiated a feeling of home and comradery that could never be explained with words.

She wasn’t exactly sure what this was, but she wanted every part of it.

“I’m...I'm Orion.”

Vesemir looked down at her then, meeting her eyes with a surprised look on his wrinkled face.

“Oh?” he said with a smile. “A child who speaks for herself, eh? Those are hard to come by these days.”

“I don’t think you’ll have any trouble getting this one to talk.”

“Well then she’s just like you, Geralt, when you were her age.”

“Hm.”

Lambert, from his slacked position at the table, snorted. “Oh, how things have changed.”

Vesemir chose to ignore the words of his younger pupil. Instead, he made his way towards the pair, stopping just close enough to place a comforting hand on Geralt’s shoulders. Orion craned her neck to watch as the old witcher looked him in the eye.

“I’ve missed you, Geralt. Far more than you know.”

Geralt felt a part of himself shift back into place. It was a part he’d thought he lost, but here it was...back in his life yet again. This was what he’s been needing. A little comfort, a little familiarity. A way to prove that he came from something bigger than himself, even if it hadn’t been his own choice.

He needed people who understood him. He needed his home, his guild, and his teacher.

His father. That’s what he needed most of all.

“It’s good to be home, Vesemir.”

“And this little one...Orion, you said it was? Where did you come from?”

Geralt was quick to squeeze Orion’s shoulder before she could answer.

“We’ll talk about it later, yeah?” he said while giving the three witchers a knowing look.

Coen had the decency to look intrigued, but it was clear that Lambert had checked out of the conversation long ago. In fact, if it weren’t for the subtle tilt of his head, Geralt would have thought he wasn’t listening at all.

But Vesemir’s eyes set on Geralt yet again. Those eyes had seen so much through his many lifetimes. The rise and fall of witchers, the dismembering of powerful empires. He was wise beyond his years, and it was therefore easy for him to understand exactly what the white-haired witcher was trying to say, even with simple words and hidden looks.

Vesemir always understood.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Orion's eyes were wide as she looked up at Vesemir. Her cheeks were flushed a rosy red, but the witcher couldn’t tell if it was because of the cold or the shock of her new environment.

Vesemir had seen this look on thousands of new recruits her age. It was the look of someone who had no idea what was next for them. The glossy look of opportunity and uncertainty.

“Yes, child?”

“Do you have anything to eat?”

Vesemir clapped his hands together at once and smiled, shifting his weight to shake his aching leg. Geralt could see the way he’d been favoring one side over the other, and wondered if it was due to an injury on the path or simply old age.

“Of course,” the old witcher replied. “The journey must have been long, I’m sure you're both hungry. Here, have a seat, and Lambert will get you something to eat from the pantry.”

“Uh, no I won’t.”

Vesemir let out a sigh of contempt. “Son…”

“Yes, Papa dearest?” Lambert batted his eyelashes sweetly back at the man.

Orion pulled her cloak tighter around herself and giggled at the interaction. Geralt, from his place beside her, bit his lip to stop himself from doing the same. He’d been around Lambert’s antics long enough to grow tired of them, but the little girl's reaction was enough for him to find the humor again.

“You think that’s funny, huh?” Lambert addressed her directly.

He wasn’t nearly as intimidating as he thought he was. All Orion did in response was laugh harder, nodding her head as she pressed her fingers to her smiling lips.

Geralt noticed she did that often. He couldn’t pinpoint if the action was connected to a specific emotion or not, but it was worth noting all the same.

It’s bad manners, he thought idly to himself. Vesemir won’t like it.

But it was hard to miss the look on Vesemir’s face. Or the way his eyes lit up as he led Orion to a seat near Lambert, lifting her into the chair with a groan that was mostly just for show. And just as Geralt had been needing something to remind him of where he came from, perhaps his teacher was looking for that too.

Maybe caring for this child would give them all a little something they were missing.

*******************

Coen was the one to get the food in the end. Little Orion was hungry, and truth be told, he’d always had a soft spot for children.

They ate leftover fried groats with omasta, one of the few things Eskel could make properly. The witcher’s had laughed and joked about their comrade’s lack of culinary expertise, but they could all admit he was light-years ahead of Lambert.

The poor man could barely make noodles on a good day.

But if anything tasted wrong, Orion was far too starved to notice. She ate with both hands, shoveling the food into her mouth at an alarming rate. Her lack of table manners wasn’t all that outstanding for a child her age, but the reasoning behind them sent shivers down Geralt’s spine. He spent most of the meal just keeping an eye on her and reminding her to breathe.

It worried him more than he’d like to admit. And by the look of the other faces in the room, especially Vesemir, he could tell they all felt the same way. The old witcher kept shifting his eyes from Orion to Geralt, clearly indicating that he could no longer wait for his pupil’s explanation.

Luckily, Coen had also noticed Vesemir’s eagerness to speak without the presence of little ears.

“Orion, love, are you full?”

The little one was, indeed, finished with her food, and had resorted to looking around the room in awe. But her eyes snapped to Coen when he addressed her, and she nodded enthusiastically at his question.

The witcher smiled. “Have you ever played Blind Man’s Bluff?”

Again, Orion shook her head with pure excitement.

“Come with me, then, I’ll show you,” Coen stood from the table, beckoning Orion to him.

She slid off her chair and took a step to follow him before freezing, turning back to where Geralt sat. Her eyes were wide with question, and although she didn’t actually say anything, the witcher knew what she was asking.

Geralt gave her the most reassuring nod he could muster. “Go on,” he spoke softly. “I’ll be here.”

The laugh she gave him was pure bliss. A child who’s easy to please, he thought idly. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

After all, a child whose rarely experienced happiness will always find joy in the simplest of things.

“I’ll join you guys,” Eskel said as he stood. He’d already heard the short version of the story when Geralt arrived, and he was much more interested in getting to know Orion.

The three moved towards the other side of the hall. With a much more open space, they were free to play whatever game Coen had come up with, but it wasn’t too far from everyone else. In fact, Geralt could still keep an eye on Orion if he wanted to. But the important thing was, they were far enough for the remaining witchers to have an open conversation.

“So, Geralt,” said Vesemir. “What’s this all about? Where’d the child come from?”

The white-haired witcher shifted his attention to Vesemir with a sigh. This was the part he was dreading. His teacher always did have a knack for making him talk about the things he’d rather avoid.

“I found her by the mouth of The Trail.”

A stiff silence settled around the three of them. Even Lambert seemed interested.

“You found her here? At Kaer Morhen?”

“Yes.”

“How the hell–”

“If I knew, Lambert, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Be careful, Wolf. With that stick so far up your ass, I almost mistook you for a sorceress.”

“Lambert–” Geralt growled, quickly losing his patience.

“Enough!”

Orion, from her place across the room, jumped at the old man’s voice. She was wearing a blindfold, as per the rules of Blind Man’s Bluff, and her arms were held out in front of her as she blindly searched for Eskel and Coen. But her attention had suddenly been divided.

Quickly, the two witchers scrambled to draw her back in the game. It wasn’t all that difficult. With a small “this way Orion” paired with an “over here”, she was back to stumbling blindly with outstretched arms and a toothy smile in no time.

Vesemir spoke with a newly hushed tone. “Did you look around, Geralt? Were there any clues as to who could’ve left her there?”

A sudden shame washed over Geralt, burning and lashing through his veins with the fire of embarrassment. He hadn’t looked around after he found her. The thought never even crossed his mind, not with the shock of finding Orion overtaking his senses. How was it that a feeling he’d known like the back of his hand for decades had suddenly robbed him of Vesemir’s teachings?

“No, I...I didn’t notice anything.”

His mentor gave him a knowing look. It was one Geralt would have rather avoided, but could not.

“Well,” Vesemir cleared his throat. “Tomorrow morning, before breakfast, we’ll go down and see what we can find.”

Geralt didn’t bother answering. There was still something on his mind, something he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to bring to Vesemir’s attention. But of course, the man always knew when his boy was keeping something from him.

“You already have an idea, don’t you Wolf?”

“Of course he does,” Lambert scoffed. He’d angled himself to watch the game being played between Orion, Coen, and Eskel, but apparently he still felt the need to insert himself in the conversation.

Geralt ignored him, opting to address Vesemir instead. “It’s not one I’m particularly fond of.”

“Go on.”

“You don’t think…” Geralt paused, watching Orion out of the corner of his eye. Her and Coen had switched roles as the blind man, and now Coen was feigning confusion as he stumbled around, pretending to search for the other two. Her face was flushed with laughter, so different from how he’d found her earlier that day. “You don’t think it could have been one of us who left her here?”

“A witcher?”

Geralt nodded, turning back to face Vesemir. His face portrayed everything the white-haired witcher was feeling.

“I suppose it’s plausible. That would explain how they found The Trail in the first place. But…”

“Oh, for fucks sake.”

“Honestly, Lambert…”

“No, seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?” His eyes were still on Orion, but they were filled with rage. “You’re debating whether or not a witcher could be cruel enough to abandon a child in the woods. But do you guys not remember how we all got here in the first place? How we became what we are? It’s ridiculous to think that abandoning a child in a place that was meant for abandoned children is against the ‘moral code’ of a witcher.”

Of course Geralt knew he was right. That’s why he even bothered asking the question in the first place. But the fire that Lambert felt, ignited by the pain they’d been forced to endure as adolescents, was something Geralt could no longer allow himself to feel. For him, 80 years was just too long of time to be overcome with rage. Indifference had always been more his style.

But Vesemir was different. Even after everything he’d witnessed, his faith always sat with their guild. Being a witcher had given him the purpose he needed, and he’s spent the last centuries of his life fulfilling it to his highest potential.

Pride and shame were powerful things in their own right. But what was a person to do when their life was a constant paradox of the two?

“And while we’re on the matter of Kaer Morhen, Geralt,” Lambert continued. “Where the hell have you been? You show up here as if no time has passed, when the most we’ve heard from you in a decade has been through some exaggerated songs written by a pitchy bard.”

The last years of Geralt’s life flashed before his eyes as he contemplated how to answer. He saw the image of a woman who’d made him choose between evils, who remained forever in his mind. He saw the monstrous princess he’d saved to pay a debt to the one he killed. He saw the aforementioned “pitchy bard”, someone who had begrudgingly become his friend. And he saw the raven haired sorceress who smelled of lilac and gooseberries, and looked about as enchanting as the devil herself.

Blaviken, Cintra, Rinde. Time after time, he traveled to a new place and made a new stupid decision. He’d fled to Kaer Morhen after the situation with the dijin to avoid making another one of those mistakes, and yet here he was, doing it again. But that wasn’t something he could admit to any of them, least of all Vesemir.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to come back to your roots, eh famous White Wolf!” Eskel called from the other side of the room.

Orion skidded to a halt beside him, her choppy curls ruffled from all the running. She was slightly out of breath, but she didn’t seem to notice as her face broke out into a full fledged grin. The great hall of Kaer Morhen was quickly filled with her childish laughs.

“White wolf!” she screeched, her voice making all of their ears ring. Geralt made a mental note to teach her what inside voices were as soon as he had the chance. “That’s funny!”

Coen gave her a funny look, raising his blind fold to look at her directly. “How so?”

“Geralt's not a wolf, silly!”

“Sure he is,” Coen said with the most serious voice he could muster. It was hard not to laugh when she spoke in that voice, as if she knew everything. “In fact, we’re all wolves. Isn’t that right, Eskel?”

“But of course.”

Orion continued to laugh. She was completely and utterly beside herself.

“And do you know, Orion, what big bad wolves do to little girls?”

“Noooo,” she giggled.

“They eat them up!”

In a flash, Orion was snatched up in Coen’s arms. She laughed and screamed as he threw her in the air, his fingers expertly digging into her sides each time he caught her, and her little legs kicked in retaliation. The witcher growled and howled just as a wolf would, putting on a show that could rival any performer.

“My point is,” Geralt drawled, pulling the conversation back on topic. “I’ve been meaning to come back for a while. Truly, I have. But things have just been...so much has happened. I was coming home to tell you all about it, but now there’s clearly more important matters at hand.”

Vesemir gave him a pointed look. “I want to hear those stories, Geralt, when you find the time.”

“You will. I promise.”

Lambert clapped his hands together and let out a sarcastic chuckle. “So what I’m hearing is that you really were too busy to come see us. As far as excuses go, I can’t say I’m impressed.”

“I know you’re trying to get a rise out of me, Lambert, but I’m not taking the bait.”

“Oh, come on Geralt! For old times sake?” Geralt gave him a real smile then. It really did make him happy to be home, even if it meant dealing with Lambert’s teasing antics. It was endearing in his own kind of sadistic, sarcastic way.

“I think we’ve tuckered somebody out.”

They all turned to look at Coen, who was now holding a nearly passed out Orion in his arms. She’d wrapped herself tight around him, her head rested slack against his shoulder, and he was rubbing soothing circles on her back. She seemed to be fighting sleep as her eyes slowly blinked open and closed, but she was sure to be out in minutes. Eskel stood next to them, gently brushing wispy hairs from her face. His eyes shifted from Orion to Geralt, and was met with a shit-eating grin.

Big fucking softies, Geralt mouthed to the two of them.

Eskel flipped him off in return.

“I’ll set her up in a room near yours, Geralt,” Coen offered.

“Why mine?”

Lambert scoffed. “You bring her, you keep her.”

“She’s not a dog,” Eskel chastised with a laugh.

“All right, all right,” Geralt cut them off before a fight could ensue. “Point taken. Go for it, Coen. I’ll check on her when I head up to bed.”

The witcher nodded once, making his way towards the double doors with Orion still tucked safely in his arms. The others watched him go, settling again once he was out of view. It was quiet for a moment as Eskel sat again at the table, before Vesemir cleared his throat to speak.

“You’re not done explaining, Geralt. What’s your plan here?”

“Plan?”

“Well, I’m assuming it was the storm that pushed you to bring her here instead of some nearby village.”

“Precisely.”

“So,” Vesemir drawled, watching Geralt expectantly. “How long do you plan on staying here? How long do you plan on keeping her with you?”

Immediately, Geralt was shaking his head with an exasperated chuckle. “No, no, no, it’s not like that. As soon as the storm has passed and it’s safe to travel, her and I will be on our way. I’ll find her somewhere safe to stay, and then it’ll all be over.”

The witchers around the table gave each other a shared look of disbelief. They all very highly doubted he would send her away when the time came to do so, especially after spending weeks caring for her as his own.

But Geralt knew something they didn’t. It’d been a while since he made his way back to Kaer Morhen. And in that time, he somehow found himself destined to a child he’d jokingly asked for.

All of Cintra’s court was waiting for him to make his dramatic entrance. They’ve spent the last five years dreading the moment the evil witcher would swoop in and kidnap their precious princess. The idea of it ate at his mind, kept him awake at night.

He had no intention of raising that child. And he certainly had no intention of raising this one.

“Trust me, brothers. Orion will be gone by the time the snow melts.”

--------------

When Orion awoke, she was immediately disoriented.

Her back ached from the unnatural position she was lying in, and the stiff bed underneath her did nothing to help the matter. Despite this, it took only a second for her to realize it wasn’t the discomfort that woke her. Instead, it was the cold. With two blankets and a sheepskin, Orion could still feel the winter wind chipping away at her bones. Her own shivering made it impossible to sleep.

The room she was in was dark and empty. There were no paintings or hooks on the cemented walls, no stools or trunks filled with clothes. Orion was completely and utterly alone with the shadows.

Her obsidian eyes welled with tears as she frantically looked around. The last thing she remembered was playing games with the new witchers she’d met. It was so exciting to have finally met someone who wanted to spend time with her, she hadn’t even noticed when her energy ran out. Coen had scooped her in his arms, and the next thing she knew, she was in this scary room all by herself.

Was she still in the castle with them? Or had they left her here to be found by someone else?

As her mind spun out of control with all the thoughts of what could be, Orion felt herself beginning to fade away. Cold, unbridled fear settled in the pit of her chest, turning her bones to lead. It was as if she was sinking into the old, uncomfortable mattress, suffocating under the weight of her own loneliness.

She remembered this feeling. She remembered the cold, the loneliness, and the weight that held her to the earth. It was all the same as before.

Except last time, she’d had the woods to keep her company. The trees had seemed to bend to her, shielding her from the unknown world. The animals were there too, calling to one another and reminding her that she wasn’t completely alone. And eventually, when the time came, she’d had Geralt. He’d said he would take her to safety, and that’s exactly what he did.

But he wasn’t here now. No one was.

And Orion couldn’t breathe.

It was a monstrous feat to pull herself from the bed she lay in. Her eyes were wide and petrified, searching for shadows in a room that was filled with nothing but. With tears running down her pale and clammy face, she skittered across the cold cement floor.

She refused to stay in this room a moment longer, but yanking on the stubborn door handle was getting her nowhere. Her chest shuddered with broken sobs as she pulled at the door with all her might. It wouldn’t open, no matter how hard Orion tried, and that’s when the panic settled in.

With angry little fists, the little girl pounded on the door that wouldn’t let her out. She kicked and scratched and clawed, her own desperation forcing her back to a sort of animalistic nature.

The shadows were creeping up on her. She could hear their footsteps, soft but detectable on the creaky old floors. She could feel them breathing down her neck and pulling at her limbs. She couldn’t see them, but she knew they were there. Waiting, always waiting, to take her away again.

Waiting to bring her to a world she could never come back from.

“Please!” Orion wailed, falling to her knees as she continued to pull at the door. “Please, somebody help me!”

There was no response to her cries. The sound of the footsteps came closer, and Orion knew they were coming to silence her.

Bargaining came before acceptance. “I’ll be good, I promise! Please, just come back!”

The footsteps were in front of her now, just behind the godforsaken door. Orion curled in on herself, shaking from both the cold and the fear. She would be here forever, it seemed, and there was nothing she could do about it.

“Please,” she whispered to herself, pressing her fingers to her mouth as she cried. “Please come back. Anybody.”

The little one heard the door swing open, but she didn’t bother to look up. She didn’t want to see them coming for her, didn’t want to watch as they reached towards her with dark and needy claws.

They lifted her into their arms, and she screamed for all she was worth. She tried to scratch, tried to pull away, but they restricted her movements completely. Her wails echoed around the room, making it nearly impossible to hear anything but her own terror. But with their lips to her ear, the strange shadows were persistent in getting her to hear them.

“Shh, Orion, it’s alright. I’m here, you’re safe now. It’s okay.”

The little one tried to stifle her tears, suddenly intrigued by the mysterious voice. Whoever was talking didn’t sound like a terrifying shadow...and the hand rubbing circles on her back didn’t feel like a sharp and bloody claw…

“It’s me, hun, it’s Geralt. Open your eyes.”

Immediately, Orion’s eyes snapped open. Blinking through the tears, she searched for Geralt’s face in the horribly lit room. She couldn’t believe it was him. Wouldn’t believe it was him, not until she saw it for herself. But when her obsidian eyes met his golden orbs, the relief that filled her was almost instant.

Geralt had the picture perfect face of concern. With his only piece of clothing being a haphazardly thrown on pair of pants, it was clear that her screams had pulled him from his sleep.

It’d been a long time since the walls of Kaer Morhen were forced to endure screams of terror that came from young children. But the white-haired witcher still remembered what it was like to hear them.

With the sound coming from Orion’s room, Geralt had thought she was in danger. Her screams were raw and full of pain, and in the seconds it took him to get from his room to hers, he’d already come up with thousands of ways she might have been suffering. But he never imagined it to be all in her head.

Orion stopped fighting once she recognized whose arms she was in. Instead, she wrapped herself around Geralt in a vice like grip, tucking her face in the crook of his neck. Her nails were digging into the bare skin of his back, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. In fact, the adrenaline had made him numb to almost everything.

“Why did you leave?” she sniffed, pulling herself closer to his chest. “Did I do something bad?”

Geralt felt like punching himself right then and there. What kind of idiot leaves a newly abandoned child to wake up in a dark room all by themselves?

He rested his hand on the back of her head. “I didn’t leave, and you did nothing wrong. I was just sleeping in the other room.”

“Oh.”

Geralt sighed with a small smile, shifting her to sit higher on his chest. “Is that all that was wrong?”

“I don’t like it here, Geralt. I don’t like it! It’s dark, it’s scary, and the shadows are coming to get me.”

“Shadows, hm?”

She leaned back just enough to look Geralt in the eyes, making them nearly nose to nose. The witcher would have laughed at her lack of personal space if he wasn’t still sweating off the panic of moments earlier.

“Mhm,” she nodded very seriously. “There’s shadows in here. I can see them. They want to take me away, Geralt.”

For once, Geralt was stuck. Everyday, he fought monsters of different fang and claw. But the war waging in Orion’s head wasn’t one he could fight for her, and he wasn’t sure what he could possibly do to make it better.

Perhaps, at the very least, he figured he could get her out of this room. Most sleeping quarters in Kaer Morhen were as dark and eerie as the next, but Orion was right to be afraid. Nobody had slept in this room in decades, and it was easy to tell from the atmosphere. There weren’t even candle mounts on the wall anymore. How could he expect her to sleep in this room all by herself?

With a sigh, Geralt turned to leave the room and make the walk back to his own. Orion buried her head back in his shoulder, too afraid to even look at the walls of the hallway. She still shook violently from the cold, and Geralt tried, fatally, to rub some warmth back into her as he walked. Truth be told, insulation was hard to come by in a castle littered with holes.

Orion refused to open her eyes until they were safe in his room with the door shut behind them. There were only two candles lit, but that was two more than the room she had been in, and the child was infinitely grateful for them both. With their light, she could see the many animal skins that littered the walls. She gave Geralt a confused look as he set her down on her feet.

“It’s how witchers decorate their room,” he explained. His cheeks dusted with the slight color of embarrassment, though he wasn’t sure why. “They’re the skins of the animals I’ve hunted...for food.”

She was quiet for a moment, and Geralt struggled to come up with something to say that would make her laugh again.

“Tomorrow, I’ll show you Lambert’s room, eh? He’s got a skunk on his wall.”

That seemed to do the trick.

“Ew!” she giggled, easing any tension that Geralt might have been feeling.

The child continued to look around as Geralt moved to dig through the trunk by his bed, looking for extra blankets to hopefully keep Orion warm. His room was fuller than hers, and not just because of the animal skins.

There was a small desk in the corner of the room, covered with various bottles filled with something Orion didn’t recognize. There were clothes tossed around the room, despite the large trunk against the wall that was clearly supposed to hold such things. And sitting at the foot of his bed were the two signature witcher swords.

The little one couldn’t help but stare. It was interesting to see how different the swords were in nature, even if they could be considered one in the same. There were little writings on their blades, different sayings in a language she didn’t recognize. She shuffled closer to the weapons, reaching her hand to run it across one of them.

“Hey!”

Immediately, Orion withdrew her hand, seeming to have nearly jumped out of her skin. She’s never heard Geralt speak like that before.

“Those aren’t toys, Orion,” he spoke in a strained tone. Within seconds, he was snatching them off his bed and putting them back in the over shoulder bag he carried them in. He motioned to the bag, before pointing back at her with a stern look on his face. “Don’t ever touch these, not unless me or someone else here says you can. Do you understand?”

She nodded with wide eyes. Geralt moved towards her, crouching to look directly in her eyes.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“I won’t ever touch your swords again.”

“Or any weapons unless someone is there to supervise.”

Orion nodded again. “I won’t touch any weapons, Geralt, I pinky swear.”

She held out her pinky to him expectantly, and the white-haired witcher felt the sudden urge to smile again. Orion was such a funny little girl. She had no idea how absolutely absurd it was for her to be asking him to engage in a “pinky promise”. And yet, such naivety was refreshing. He found himself wanting to play along, if not for the sake of keeping the child in high spirits, then simply because it amused him.

So without much delay, he held his hand out to meet hers, and their two pinkies interlocked. The image was comical. With his single finger, he could crush her entire hand if he wanted to.

Perhaps that image wouldn’t have been nearly as comical to a normal person. But Geralt always had a morbid sense of humor.

“Alright little lady,” he said, snatching Orion from under her arms and lifting her onto his hip. “It’s time to sleep for real this time.”

He placed her on the left side of the bed, closest to the wall. He’d thought it would make her feel safer, but he could still see the apprehension in her eyes.

Geralt was sure to tuck her in nice and tight with the many blankets he’d found, only saving one to keep himself warm. “What is it, Orion? What’s wrong?”

“What about the shadows?”

He sighed again for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. “There’s no shadows here. Remember what I said? This place is safe, even if it feels a little scary sometimes.”

“But I felt them, Geralt. They want to take me-”

“I won’t let them,” he said firmly. “Okay? I won’t let them take you. And if I fail, Eskel will take my place, along with Lambert and Coen and Vesemir. With all of us here to protect you, the shadows won’t stand a chance.”

Orion wanted to believe him, she really did. But with fear clouding her every sense, logic was hard to come by. The witcher could see her inner struggle. God, he was seriously failing at this whole “nurturing caretaker” thing.

“How about we keep these candles lit, hm? That way, we can see if anything’s coming, and I’ll be able to stop it before it gets you. How does that sound?”

Geralt watched as she thought over his plan. But after a moment she shrugged, giving him a small nod. “Okay,” she said in a small voice.

Now that everything was settled, the witcher was quick to slide back into his bed, tucking Orion into her mountain of blankets one last time. Finally able to let himself rest, he tucked his arms behind his head with a small groan of exhaustion. If this was any indicator of how things would be, he feared that he may have underestimated the difficulty of caring for this child.

Vesemir surely knew how to do it. He’s done it with thousands of children in the past. But Orion wasn’t his responsibility, she was Geralt’s, and hell would freeze over before he allowed someone else to pull him from the hole he’d dug himself in.

But then all of a sudden, he felt something squirm beside him. It was the pile of blankets he’d made, with a small head of dark curls peeking out from underneath them. Orion was scooching closer and closer to his already open arms, moving so slow that she probably thought he wouldn’t notice.

Of course he noticed.

And maybe it was because of the long day she’d had, or maybe it was because of the cold that was freezing them both to death, but Geralt decided to allow it. He didn’t move to hold her as she rested her head on his chest, nor did he flinch away as she curled herself tight to his side. She was still shaking, he could feel it, but his body heat, paired with her hundred blankets, was sure to stop that soon enough.

Looking down on the bundle lying next to him, he shifted one of the blankets to the side to catch a glimpse of her face. Her cheeks were flushed red, with small breaths of slumber falling from her parted lips, and her face was smushed as she rested it against his chest. There were no tears in her eyes, no panic or fear to be found. It was refreshing to see her so relaxed, but it was also a reminder.

If Orion felt safe in his arms, then maybe he was doing something right. After all, that had been his goal in the first place. To bring her somewhere where she could feel safe and warm with a belly full of food. She wouldn’t be here for long, not if he had any say in it. So if he could keep her here and keep her happy until the roads permitted him to bring her somewhere else, then maybe that’s all that mattered.

Five witchers caring for a little girl all by themselves in an abandoned castle...surely this winter will be one they’ll never forget.

-------------------

Tags: @yorkeylover @firexfate @the-sky-writes @planet-ashtroid @dreamy-caramel @yamihere004 @nayderz @antisocial-thing @risenqueen-1521 @britty443 @gluepoo @jakiejellybean

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thesleepy1 · 3 years ago

Text

The Fighter And The Bard In Training

A/N: @shit-i-say-shit-i-think requested a fic where Eskel brings a mother of two back to the keep. Again, repeating theme we have here. A theme that I am completely ready to embrace because it is so damn soft. I just can’t with the wholesomeness. This fic right here? The one you’re about to read? Pure fluff. You’re welcome. Unbeta’d because we die like my heart after reading fluffy fics.

Pairings: Eskel x Reader, slight Jaskier x Geralt

Summary: After years together, Eskel finally decides it is time for you and your children to meet his side of the family. You two had only put it off until your youngest was old enough to handle the travel but since arriving at the keep, you didn’t know why you didn’t bring them along sooner. They loved it.

Or, “Can I please request an Eskel x reader where he brings his lady back to Kaer Mohren with her two kids?”

Word count: 3,047

Warnings: none that I know of

Astry was getting too big to be held in your arms but you had yet to complain. You wanted to cherish these moments for as long as you could because just the week before you had been nursing her. It still did not connect in your head how seven years had passed since you had to breast her. These few moments where she allowed you to carry her were memories that you would hold dear for years to come.

Your son, Stokrotka, was a different story entirely. The boy would be thirteen by the end of winter and he, unlike his younger sister, always sought out your physical attention. No matter if it had been a long day out running chores for the neighbors or a simple ache in his skin, he turned to you for a hug. You thought he would grow out of it but years passed and yet he returned time and time again.

Once more, no complaints here.

As you stood in the front halls of Kaer Morhen, Stokrotka to your left, Astry in your arms, and Eskel to your right; you could not feel more grateful for the family you had built. You and Eskel had been together for years but merely decided to hold off the trip until Astry was older. Now that she was old enough to make the trek up the mountain path, she and Stokrotka could finally meet their Pa’s family.

Vesemir was the first to greet you. You had only spoken with him through letters, his scratchy quill marks so unlike his voice when he said, “For such a dirty mouth through letters, I thought you would be taller.” ‘

You chuckled at him, already in love with the father of your husband. “Surprisingly enough, I get that one quite a bit.” You gave him a knowing wink, “Though I try to keep it down around the little ones.”

Vesemir smiled and although he and Eskel were not related by blood, you could see the resemblance in the spark in their eyes. He turned to peer at Stokrotka and Astry, the two unusually quiet. They knew they had nothing to be afraid of in witchers. However, it could be Vesemir’s natural aura which made people want to please him that kept the children silent.

“I’ve heard much about you two through the letters,” he spoke in a tone matching his grin. “This little one must be Stokrotka and the lad, Astry?”

“I’m Stokrotka and that’s Astry, actually,” Stokrotka’s matter of fact reply broke the tension. Astry erupted into a fit of giggles at Vesemir’s mistake. She wriggled free from your arms, your reflexes the only thing that prevented her from being dropped as her quick feet hit the cobblestone floors. She ran the short distance from Vesemir and bounced up and down as if she had not spent most of the day trekking up a mountain.

“You raised my Pa, right?” she asked with an infectious smirk. Eskel stood back with you to watch the interaction. A fond expression was on his face as Vesemir nodded and Astry beamed. “That makes you my Grandpa, yeah?”

“If you’d have me, I'd be happy to take up the job.”

*****

The next two people who had greeted you were Coen and Lambert. Two men that clearly had never interacted with children. When they first saw Stokrotka and Astry, they had greeted your children politely and returned to their game of gwent. Astry, who had never seen the game before, quickly took to watching their game to try to understand its rules.

She was seven and still struggled to read so she didn’t get very far.

Coen took pity on her and tried his best to explain to her the rules. Stokrotka nodded to himself as if making sure that Coen was correct even though the witcher had been alive and playing the game long before he was born. The boy had only ever played with you and Eskel when he woke up from nightmares. The game was a distraction from his thoughts. Eskel always let Stokrotka win and your son had never once beat you in a fair game. You were just too good. And you knew the boy could use a challenge to keep his mind off of things.

Despite Stokrotka’s nodding approval and Coen’s friendly demeanor, nothing seemed to have stuck with Astry. You saw that she was far too interested in the pictures on the cards then any game mechanics.

“You know I learned the game after a good pint or two of white gull,” Lambert took a large gulp of his drink just to prove his point.

“Can I have some?”

You laughed at Astry’s innocent inquiry but the smile quickly left your face as Lambert shrugged and handed her the tankard. Coen did nothing to stop her. All he did was jokingly request her to save Lambert some.

Before your daughter could be possibly poisoned by such strong alcohol you snatched the tankard right from her hands. “Alright, I think that’s enough with playing with Uncle Coen and Uncle Lambert.” You set the tankard down far from the edge of the table and turned to stir your children away. Eskel led them away with a stern look to his brothers. You whipped back around and pointed to the two witchers. “Your babysitting privileges are revoked until I feel like you can keep my children safe.”

“I had white gull when I was your boy’s age and I turned out fine,” Lambert brushed you off nonchalantly.

“You thinking that just proves her point.”

*****

Yennefer and Ciri were also wintering at the keep as well. The two were in the courtyard when you and Eskel went off to train. Astry sat on Eskel’s shoulders, her little hands gripped tightly on his hair to steer him one way or the other. Eskel did not seem to mind the stings of pain. His hand merely held onto Astry’s ankles to prevent her from falling.

Stokrotka had opted to stay in the library as per his fashion. Whether he had hid away in the large hall to read or to practice on his oud without anyone to hear, you weren’t quite sure. Either way, you had allowed him to run from the prospect of running drills without complaint. The boy had different interests than you and his sister and that was alright.

Ciri was training as well. Only she didn’t play with wooden swords like you and Astry. She held a heavy silver sword in her hand, slashing and tearing through the straw dummies like they had personally offended her. Astry stood to the side, as per your request, and watched in awe. She had seen Eskel train before but Ciri had a very different fighting style. One that had Astry gasping and oohing out loud.

“I want to try!” Astry exclaimed, watching as Ciri chopped off a dummy’s head in one clean swipe.

“Perhaps when you’re older,” Yennefer replied with a smile that lacked any condescension. She, unlike Lambert and Coen, had some common sense in her. “I think it's best to start out with those wooden swords. That’s what your father began with.”

“Really?” Astry was clearly skeptical. She peered up at Eskel as if daring him to lie to her. You chuckled into your hand at the sight, the witcher’s heightened senses hearing without comment. Eskel let go of your hand and kneeled down to Astry’s level.

“Ciri began with training weapons as well,” Eskel explained to his daughter. “But with practice and patience, she managed to hone her skills to be able to use a real sword without harming herself.” Eskel laid a gentle hand on Astry’s shoulder. “If you want to, you’ll get there someday.”

Astry’s dark eyes lit up like fireworks. She looked at Eskel as if he were the bright sparks of colors himself. “I could be a witcher?!”

Everyone laughed at her excitement. Astry bounced on the tip of her toes, her smile taking up most of the space on her face. Ciri paused in her training to walk over to Astry. Amusement was evident on the face of Geralt’s daughter. The two silver haired witchers had the same smug smile that you were tempted to wipe off if you had been on the end of it.

“Yennefer here is teaching me how to be a mage as well.”

Somehow, Astry’s eyes grew twice as large.

*****

By nightfall of the third night, the children had explored the whole keep. Some of the rooms were restricted for their safety but they were allowed to peer in to know the reason why. Some of them lacked stable foundations while others had gaping holes in the walls that led straight off the cliff’s edge. Other safer rooms were left with their doors open for the children’s enjoyment.

On occasion when Ciri had finished her training early, she would join them. Although she had been in the keep much longer, she enjoyed the adventure with your children. You could spot them running through the stone hallway from time to time. Eskel would talk of how he caught them riding down staircases on discarded mattresses. The three of them quickly grew as friends and as partners in crime.

“I’m going to kill them,” you told Eskel flatly one night as the two of you were getting ready for bed. He poked his head out behind the divider and looked at you with affection. “Don’t give me that look. I really am going to kill those three.”

“What did the children do now?”

“They found a way to sneak in Lil’ Bleater and her…special surprises.”

Eskel stalked closer to you. His chest was bare due to the interruption while he was undressing. Scars littered his tone chests, his muscles rippling with his calm breath. You tried to keep your eyes on his but failed. The sheer size of his torso momentarily made you forget your troubles with the children.

Eskel coughed in disgust which drew you back to the conversation at hand. “I understand your sudden murderous intent.” Eskel pinched his nose shut, a playful smile at the edge of his cleft lips. “Lil’ Bleater’s surprises are known for their…potency. Perhaps you should venture down to the hot springs.”

“You have no sympathy for me, do you, Eskel?”

Eskel kissed you briefly with a teasing smile, “Not an ounce my dear.”

*****

Besides the children’s antics, there was another stable in Kaer Morhen. Every afternoon Stokrotka would shut the library doors tight and play his oud. No one was allowed in without his explicit permission and even then, he would refuse to play in front of anyone. If questioned, he would merely answer, “It’s not quite finished yet. I still need to practice. Perhaps later.” Later typically meant never with the boy.

But if one happened to be a witcher and a supportive father, one may or may not be able to catch chords and lyrics while passing the closed library.

And specifically, who those lyrics address.

It was not news to you that Stokrotka was a fan of all the famous bards: Drogodar of Cintra, Essi Daven of Cidaris, Le Papillon of Toussaintois, Callonetta of Kovir, and Valdo Marx of Cidaris. You knew far too much of them despite not being a bard yourself. Stokrotka spoke of them whenever someone had gained his trust.

Eskel knew of them as well but Stokrotka’s favorite bard must have slipped his mind because he only realized then he knew the man. The way Stokrotka spoke of the bard was a tad idealized but Eskel was not going to stop the boy from having a harmless crush. Stokrotka could sing of cornflower blue eyes, brunette locks, and rugged jaw all he wanted. Eskel was a good father and all good fathers want only happiness for their children.

Though, at times a little embarrassment never hurt no anyone.

******

Geralt arrived usually late this year. He told the keep he had been caught up in some far off lord’s affair. For a man who complained of not wanting to get involved in human affairs, he tended to gravitate towards them. At the end of the day, all he had to show of them was a bad repudiation to some and a couple new scars. The coin was rarely ever good when stingy lords were involved.

No matter Geralt’s poor choice in contracts, you and Eskel greeted him with kindness. Eskel with the hug of brothers and you with the embrace of close friends. The children were no longer hesitant about new guests among the keep. If one could make up the mountain trails with a smile on their face then they must be a friend of the wolf witchers.

Astry gave Geralt a running hug much to the amusement and slight jealousy of the other witchers. She did not see any of the witchers as scary monster hunters. In the span of several weeks, the men had become her uncles. Uncle Geralt was just a late addition.

“You look just like my Pa,” Astry exclaimed with excitement at the discovery. “You two look just alike. Are you twins?”

Geralt laughed at Astry’s expression. He thought fondly of how Ciri used to look at him the same way when she was Astry’s age. “We trained at the same time but we aren’t twins,” Geralt explained to the now defeated looking Astry.

“But you look just like twins, Uncle Geralt.”

“The pretty boys act just alike,” Lambert exclaimed, “They’re the only two that got tied down by marriage.”

Eskel approached his younger brother, clenching and relaxing his fists as he did so. “I wouldn’t call it being tied down, Lambert. I like to refer to it as finding someone that can put up with me. Someone that loves me for who I really am.” Eskel smiled at Lambert but it was not one of his brotherly ones. “Have you found someone like that?”

“I prefer the freedom of prostitutes, personally.”

“What’s a prostitute?” Astry asked and Stokrotka had taken that as his cue to leave for the library for the night. On any other occasion, Eskel would allow him to sneak off but tonight he had a surprise in store.

“Something that I will explain to you once you’re older,” Eskel avoided the question, guiding Stokrotka back into the room. “Why don’t you go and meet Uncle Geralt?” Eskel addressed his son.

“We met in the courtyard. He seems like a very nice man.” Stokrotka tried to push past Eskel but the older witcher was not budging to the boy who played with ouds as opposed to swords. “Please Pa, I did my niceties. May I please go?”

“Don’t you want to show Uncle Geralt’s husband your new songs?”

Before Stokrotka even knew who Eskel was citing, the lad was shaking his head in a firm no. Your boy did not like to share his work with anyone, whether that be his own mother or his uncle’s husband. It seemed like truly no one was allowed to hear his songs.

“You’re a bard?” Geralt asked curiously with an expression that Stokrotka could not read.

“In training, yes,” Stokrotka stated with his usual practical tone.

“Why don’t you share your lyrics with me? I may know a thing or two about poetry. I traveled with a bard for decades.”

Stokrotka looked at Geralt with skepticism. He peered up at the silver haired witcher and both you and Eskel knew what was about to happen. You could practically see Stokrotka’s mouth quiver with his need. “I mean this in the lowest form of offense but I don’t think just any traveling bard is able to compare to the teachings of the greatest bard on the continent. Ma gifted me with a print of Jaskier’s book years ago and his genius is simply unmatched. I know my songs need work just as nothing is truly perfect, however, I prefer to work alone as opposed to in pairs. Thank you for your offer, dear uncle, but I must politely decline.”

Stokrotka turned to address you and Eskel. You knew you hid your laughter poorly but the boy did not comment on your red faces. The others in the room were faring only marginally better. Yennefer had to silently threaten to ban Ciri from the room if she did not at least try to hide her crackle. Stokrotka ignored everyone and spoke in the voice of a begrudging diplomat. “If my parents deem it acceptable I will like to retire to the library where I will hopefully be uninterrupted. Is this arrangement agreeable with everyone?”

“You’re retiring already?” came a voice from behind Stokrotka. “I would have liked to at least read your song book if you were not ready to perform them. I love seeing the work of budding new artisans.”

Stokrotka shifted on his heel once more to reiterate his statement to the newcomer but for once, he was rendered speechless. The man in front of Stokrotka was the spitting image of the sketch of the continent's most famous bard, a sketch that Stokrotka kept in his oud case among his most prized possessions. His cornflower blue eyes, brunette locks, and rugged jaw were just as the sketch and tales had told of. They were perhaps more beautiful in person.

Stokrotka stood with his mouth agape.

“May I have the honor of seeing your work?” Jaskier asked the boy kindly.

“Y-yes, of course, Jask—I mean sir. Yes, sir. Wait right here. Let me bring you my book and my oud.” With that Stokrotka rushed off to the library and the hall erupted into howls. The whole room shook with the combined laughter of witchers, mage, and man. Only Jaskier stood without a lively roar.

“Laugh all you may want but that boy is among the politer of the bards in training that I have met.” Jaskier pulled you and Eskel into a warm embrace. He greeted you and you greeted him properly in turn. Astry wanted in on the affection and he honored her request in kind. Jaskier looked to you and Eskel and said, “You two have raised good children.” You knew he meant every word of it too.

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open--till--midnight · 3 years ago

Text

Run Ins

eskel x gn!reader

summary | you meet the witcher of your dreams during your first winter at kaer morhen

warnings | pining obv its my writing, no plot just pining and fluff, my specialty

wc | 3.9k

a/n i was at 2k words and i was on fire then i lost all traction, well not really but idk, this story literally wrote itself. This thing has no plot :)

***

Your presence in Kaer Morhen was less than necessary. You weren’t a witcher, and you certainly didn’t fit in. And while you did know your way around a sword, you didn’t bring anything to the table, especially a table full of witchers.

It was a confusing situation that led you to the witcher’s keep this winter. You had hired the witcher to help you track down a group of bandits who had robbed and killed your family. It took a while, tracking them from town to town. And after you found them you just kind of stayed with him. He didn’t seem to mind and if he did, he never said anything.

You were happy with your new life. More than happy. But now things were different.

The previous winter you hadn’t made the trip to Kaer Morhen. Geralt hadn’t actually told you about the keep until he told you that you would be joining him. You thought it was just because he didn’t trust you, but Geralt knew that it was just because he didn’t want to separate from you. He valued your company and even considered you a friend, but the keep was a well-guarded secret to him and he hadn’t been ready to share it.

But now that he had, you were honored. And nervous. As much as you trusted Geralt, he was certainly still intimidating. He was a witcher after all. And the thought of being stuck in a deteriorating keep with a handful of other witchers intimidated you. Very much so. The only consoling thoughts were of your friendship with Geralt and the bard, Dandelion who would be joining you.

The great hall greeted you with some much-needed warmth. The frozen snow covering you quickly dissolved. Vesemir was the first to greet you, his open arms embraced Geralt and his hand outstretched to take yours. A nervous smile spread on your face and you were sure he could notice the faint tremble in your hand. He smiled back anyway, and certainly, he understood your predicament.

When Lambert entered the room, Dandelion was already making himself at home, breaking out his lute and spreading out on the bench at the table. The young witcher greeted you less than warmly, pretty much just a grunt in your direction before grabbing a far too full mug of ale.

Comfortable small talk filled the room. You learned that there were two more witchers coming for the winter. Coen and Eskel. Coen hadn’t been coming to Kaer Morhen for very long, but Eskel had grown up here.

Coen entered soon after they told you this, and he greeted you warmly before taking a seat opposite you. The mood in the great hall heightened exponentially with each addition, even Lambert had opened up to you.

By now, your nerves had completely died down, but then there was the loud bang of the keep doors opening.

“Wolf!” Your eyes followed Geralt as he stood from the bench and walked behind you to the final witcher. And when you saw him, your heart stopped. Your breath hitched and you had to turn around before anyone noticed how flustered you had become.

You did have to turn back around when you heard Geralt begin to introduce you. He stretched out his large hand and you took it in your hot one. It was a quick interaction before he took the seat next to you.

With a little more ale, your nerves, once again, died down. Though the presence of the broad-chested witcher beside you never truly let them fizzle out completely. His voice filled you up in a way you couldn’t describe and his laugh made you feel like you could fly. Out of the corner of your eye, his scarred hand raised and lowered his mug. You wanted to memorize the sight of it.

Geralt had cut you off about an hour ago, you weren’t known to hold your alcohol very well. It mostly ended in nights of the witcher comforting you while you sobbed, or yelled. You would remember to thank him for that later.

When Geralt saw you yawn, he excused you for the night, leading you to one of the only semi-livable rooms in the keep. He lit the fire with his sign and sat at the end of your bed.

“You doing ok?”

“Mhm. They’re all very nice.” You weighed your choice of adjectives for a moment after speaking, and Geralt laughed.

“That’s certainly….a word.”

“Well, ok, Lambert was nice once he was drunk. The others were wonderful.”

Geralt nodded, choosing not to bring up your strange behavior brought about by a certain witcher. That would be a conversation for another time. And besides, he was curious to see how flustered you would let yourself become in the meantime.

“I’ll be in the main hall if you need anything, ok? Don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, y/n.”

And with that, Geralt left the room, leaving you in the warm comfort of the small stone room. The sheets below you must have been freshly washed, you wondered if this room belonged to someone else. But you didn’t have the energy to put any more thought into it, you had all winter for that, so you tucked yourself under the covers and promptly fell asleep.

You didn’t wake until late the next day when Geralt came in to check on you. Up until then, and to your surprise, your sleep had been deep and uninterrupted.

“You’re alive?”

You groaned, pulling your arm up to shield the rays of sun Geralt had unleashed into the room.

“Good. Probably be a good idea to get up.”

You repeated his words in a high-pitched voice, leaning your head further back into your pillow.

“Leave you to it, I guess.”

When Geralt closed the door, you sighed. You didn’t know how you would react to another run-in with Eskel. You felt silly, like a child with a crush. And you hardly knew him. It was one night and you hadn’t even really talked to him.

So with a soft grunt, you got up, pulled on some clothes, and left your room. The hall was colder than your room, far colder, and you couldn’t hold back the shiver that overtook you. You were thankful that none of the witchers were there to see, the gods only knew how little the cold affected them. The more you had of these thoughts, the more insignificant you felt. You were only human, after all.

You made your way to the kitchen, you hadn’t realized how hungry you were up until you got there. The growling in your stomach told you as much. There was dried fish in one of the barrels, and figuring that it was good enough, you reached inside.

“I wouldn’t eat that if I were you.”

Turning around you were faced with the terrifyingly handsome witcher.

“Wha- Why not?”

“Lambert drops bombs in the lake and waits for the fish to float to the top. Safe to say, they probably aren’t the safest to eat.”

“Oh, good call.”

Eskel turned around and opened a cabinet door, taking out a glass jar full of what looked like a broth. He took a great risk in tossing it to you, but thanks to your quick reflexes, you caught it. But just barely.

“Thanks.”

He also tossed you a roll of bread before getting himself some food and sitting down at the table. You sat across from him after getting a spoon. After setting the bread on a plate, you went to open the jar. You had no luck. You tried again, still it didn’t budge.

“Do you want some help?”

“Could you?”

Eskel opened the jar embarrassingly easily. He smirked when he handed it back to you. It wasn’t a teasing gesture, you could tell that much. If you didn’t know any better, you would have guessed it was an anxious smile.

You both ate in comfortable silence. Every so often a glance was exchanged with sweet, friendly smiles. When you had finished eating, Eskel spoke.

“Geralt mentioned you’re skilled with a sword, that true?”

“I guess so. I mean, he lets me come on hunts with him, if that says anything.”

“It certainly does. We should spar sometime, I’d like to see you fight.”

You held back a cough, eyes trying so hard not to widen. “I’d like that very much.” You wouldn’t. How were you supposed to spar with skill with him right in front of you? You’d always found men fighting attractive. You were fucked. Most definitely.

Your conversation was cut short when Lambert burst through the door, causing you to jump. Eskel shot you an amused look before turning back to his brother.

“-ah fuck it.” Eskel chose not to fight with him this time.

“Well, well, well. The human’s here.”

“I’ll take that as my cue.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t have to. Lambert will shut his trap. Won’t he?” Lambert scoffed at the glare the other witcher sent him.

“I should actually find Geralt now. Thank you. Bye.”

Thank you, bye? You felt foolish. Your self-depreciation was interrupted by Lambert’s booming voice coming through the kitchen door.

“Oh, you are sick, brother.”

“Shove off.”

“Geralt will never let that happen, you know that.”

“Shut up, please.”

You hadn’t a clue as to what they were talking about, so you moved on, searching through this labyrinth of a keep for Geralt. He was outside, sitting on a stone wall, feet hanging off, beside him, Dandelion.

“You need to let me, Geralt. It’s only fair.”

“You freeze the second you see combat, bard. Do you really think you could handle a sword? Moreover, fight a monster with said sword?”

“Geralt, my friend, you underestimate me.” He paused, “Ah, y/n. You’re here. Maybe you can help us end this dispute.”

“I’m staying out of it. Sorry, Dandelion, but I have no interest in getting on either of your bad sides.”

“Nonsense.”

“Uh uh.”

That day, Geralt had nothing for you to do. So you spent your time exploring the keep, inside and out. Almost three times you got lost. Once outside, and two inside. At least when you were outside, you could see the keep’s walls and get a bearing that way. Inside was a different story completely.

The sun would soon set, so you made your way inside where you found Dandelion and Lambert already sitting at the table in the great hall. Vesemir joined soon after you sat down. You assumed that Geralt and Eskel were getting dinner ready to be served and you were proven right when they did just that.

Geralt was pleased to note that you got along with everybody, you even somehow won Lambert over. He also noted how Eskel’s eyes only ever left your form when you would glance his way. Both of which had been common that night.

Eskel had made a quiet joke about Lambert’s fish at which you laughed, Geralt had been the only one to hear it. For most of the night, even after dinner, Dandelion told stories of the events that passed over the past two years. He embellished them, incredibly so, but still, you said nothing of it.

Just like the last, this night Geralt led you back to your room and lit your fire. He watched you as you moved about the room, pulling back the sheets on the bed and getting your sleep clothes out. He had been worried he would regret taking you to his home. Whether it was you disliking it there or if you didn’t get along with his makeshift family. But that was nothing he should be worrying about, you did like it here and you did get along with everybody. Geralt was happier than he had been in a long time.

You had let go of the same worries that day. If it hadn’t been for Eskel, you would have none. But you figured you should be happy for what really mattered. You were comfortable, you felt safe.

Geralt said goodnight and left you to get changed and crawl into bed. You lay staring at the ceiling for the better part of an hour before falling asleep. You had never felt this way before, and you didn’t really know how to label this emotion. If it was an emotion at all.

He filled you with fire, and you couldn’t put it out even if you wanted to. Your stomach did flips when you looked at him. All you knew was that you wanted to spend as much time with him as you could.

Before you could understand your mind had run off without you. You pictured yourself on the Path, as you were with Geralt. But it wasn’t Geralt beside you, it was Eskel. You imagined the way his lips would feel against yours, how the weight of his weathered hand would feel on your waist. These thoughts made you feel guilty, not that you knew why they did, but they plagued you until you fell asleep. A restless sleep, too.

The halls never got any warmer. Every morning you were greeted with the same. It had been two weeks since your first morning and every single time you neglected to wear something warmer.

This morning, you got up early, before the sun rose, and headed to the kitchen. On the way there, you couldn’t stop your shivering. It was subtle but steady, and incredibly uncomfortable. Your feet shuffled on the stone floor, meaning you couldn’t hear the footsteps gaining on you from behind.

“You’re headed to the kitchen?”

“Oh!” You laughed once you saw who it was, now embarrassed at your yelp. “Yes, I am. I woke up hungry this morning.”

“You’re freezing.” You nodded. “Come. Wait in the library, it’s much warmer than the kitchen and the great hall. I’ll bring you food.”

Eskel opened the door for you, then moved to light the fire. You would never cease to be amazed at the witcher signs. When he left you wrapped yourself in one of the blankets draped over one of the couches before sitting in front of the fire. You hummed to yourself while you waited, a song your mother used to sing to you when you were little. It was all that you had left of her, that and a thin silver chain you wore around your neck.

Eskel heard your humming, not wanting to interrupt the sound, he waited outside for a moment. His sharp hearing let him hear you perfectly. When you were done, he waited one more minute before pushing the door open.

“Sorry, Lambert held me up.”

“No worries.” Your smile lit a fire in him, similar to the one you held for him. “Are you always up this early? I didn’t think any- oh, wait, nevermind. Geralt always gets up before the sun rises. I guess it’s no different with the rest of you, is it?”

“It is not. We don’t get much sleep anyway.”

You wanted to ask him why, but he looked so tired and you didn’t want to push. So you opted to take him up on his earlier request.

“Do you want to practice today?”

“Gladly.” Gods his smile could kill you.

You instantly regretted your decision when you were in the yard. The sun, despite the fact that it was winter, was unrelenting. Eskel tossed you a wooden sword and prepared himself to fight.

To your surprise, you did well. Out of five rounds, you managed to win two of them. Eskel was thoroughly impressed, for a human to beat a witcher, well, that was a big deal.

“I give the credit to Geralt. He’s a great teacher.”

“Yeah, but he’s not the one that just beat me.” Eskel wiped his forehead with his arm before taking your swords and putting them away. “Just take the compliment, y/n.”

“Yes, fine. Thank you.”

“You know, you wouldn’t be so hot if you wore something other than black.”

You made a mocking noise at him before opening the keep doors for the two of you. The cold air hit you and almost instantly cooled you.

“Maybe that’s why you and Geralt get along so well. It’s all the black.”

You were suddenly overcome with doubts. “You don’t think it’s too much, do you?”

“Not at all. It’s your color.” If Eskel’s heart could beat any faster, his face would be red as a radish.

And when your cheeks felt as hot as the sun, you realized you couldn’t respond.

You didn’t see Eskel again until dinner, where he once again sat next to you. No words were spoken, but his presence comforted you, as yours did to him.

You and Geralt had created a routine in him taking you to your room and lighting your fire every night. Sometimes he would stay a while and talk with you, others he would simply hug you and leave.

Tonight, you had been drinking, maybe too much. Geralt had neglected to cut you off tonight, he had been too engrossed in his Gwent game to notice your inebriated state. When he took you to your room he had to carry you, your balance was less than mediocre and you had fallen over twice before even making out of the great hall.

Geralt helped you into bed after taking off your shoes, but you sat straight up again and held onto his wrist.

“What’s wrong?”

“Geralt, I’m sick.”

“No, you’re just drunk. It’ll pass.”

“Uh uh. That’s not what I mean. I love him so much it hurts. So so bad.”

Geralt was now holding you in his arms while you sobbed.

“Who?”

“Eskel! Who else, Geralt.”

Geralt didn’t know what to say. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed anything sooner.

“Do you want me to tell him?”

“No, no, no, no. Pleeease no.”

Geralt didn’t say anything more that night. He held you close and ran his hand down the side of your face until you fell asleep. He slept in your chair that night and he was still there when you woke up.

“What are you doing?”

His eyes were still closed, but he spoke with a smirk. “Sleeping.”

“Why here? Oh fuck, I feel sick.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens, y/n. You should know this by now. Speaking of, you said something to me last night, well, more like a confession.” You quirked your head at him, a request to go on. “You said you loved Eskel. That true?”

Your laugh was hesitant and nervous. Part of you was glad someone knew, but hearing it out loud made it so much scarier.

“I’ll take that as my answer. Alright.”

Geralt left the room, leaving you wide-eyed and mouth open. A dazed smile crossed your face and it didn’t leave until you reached the great hall. The rest of the witchers were sitting at the table eating breakfast. As always, you sat next to Eskel.

This morning, he smiled at you immediately, moving over so you could take your usual spot between him and Geralt.

Later that day, you were helping Geralt in the lab, making a supply of Swallow.

“You look tired, y/n.”

“Ya, sorta.”

“Is this about what you told me?”

“Maybe. I just need some time to myself I think. I’ll probably go up to the tower and sit for a while, maybe I’ll bring a book along too.”

“I can finish up here alone if you want to go, that is.”

“Thanks, Geralt.”

By the time you made it up to the tower, you couldn’t keep yourself together. A few tears left your eyes only to be caught by your sleeve. It had been only a month, you felt foolish to feel this much for a man you’d only known that long. Sure you’d had conversations, but nothing warranting love. This was just a crush, that’s all.

Your thinking was interrupted by the scrape of a candle holder falling and being caught. When you turned, Eskel was standing, holding the brass candle holder and smiling a bit too wide.

“Oh, hi. You scared me a little bit.”

“Sorry about that.” Eskel looked at his hands and put the candle holder back and then clenched them at his sides. “What are you doing up here?”

“What are you doing up here?”

“Geralt said you would be here.”

He had asked Geralt about you. No, no, no, you were overthinking again.

“Oh, yeah. I just needed some alone time.”

“I’m sorry, I can leave.”

“No!” Shit. “No, you can stay, I’m ok now.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” You couldn’t make eye contact with him now, and like always, your face grew unbearably hot. “Maybe you could just… sit with me?”

“Yea, I can do that.”

There was a bed on the other side of the room, so you both sat down. You flinched when Eskel put his arm around you.

“Sorry.”

“No, I like that. I just haven’t- It’s been a while since-” The only physical contact you’ve had in years was with Geralt. The occasional hug or touch while stitching and bandaging and that was it.

“I understand.”

“It just shocked me, that’s all.”

“It’s ok, I promise.”

Eskel put his arm back around you. You were happy about that. But after a while, you both started talking, and eventually, you both sat on the bed facing each other.

“A succubus, are you serious?” You had to choke back a laugh, and you did not do a very good job with it.

“Yea, and fisstech.”

“Wow. And I thought you were a witcher.”

“Then I guess you’re more of a witcher than I am.”

“I’ve got the double swords.”

“And you’ve beaten a witcher in combat, that counts for something.”

Gods, his laugh could kill you. The moment froze in time. The picture of his face pulled in happiness and that deep laugh going directly to your heart. You didn’t even notice when you stopped laughing, the moment of serenity brought you a sense of peace and it caused you to act rashly.

You found yourself moving closer to him, and him closer to you. You could feel the rough pads of his hand on top of yours, and he squeezed lightly. The planes of his face felt weather-worn and scarred when you held him. But his lips were soft when you finally moved to press yours against them.

His hands moved their way up to your upper arms, you didn’t think he noticed how hard he was holding you. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, it enhanced the moment. Your gasps were loud when you pulled apart and smiled at each other. You got lost in his eyes for a moment before he pulled your head under his chin and held you close. You both fell asleep there and woke up in each other’s arms.

#the witcher #eskel #eskel x reader #eskel imagine #eskel fluff #eskel fic #eskel fanfic #lilywrites📝

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