#eskel amber-eyed

[lilolilyr]

Mostly a generic Witcher series moodboard but I did make it while reading the Accidental Warlord series by @inexplicifics and I can only recommend everyone read it as well it's really good <3

~~~ continue reading ~~~

The problem with reading extremely amazing more than book length with spin offs canon-divergence fic big on the divergence part? There's no way I'll go back to normal fic after this because this is way better than anything canon related! Oh well, it's nice while it lasts, and there are always other fandoms to go to for a long while until I've forgotten this series enough that I can read more canon compliant shit again xD

On the topic of forgetting things tho - I do that quite quickly and frequently, so I write summaries of longfics and series I read especially wips, and this one turned too long for the Ao3 bookmark - even though I'm only summarizing the main fics where the plot happens - so here we go instead! reading feb25, am at 21/1 making this post, but I'll keep updating the summary. Which, yeah, the rest of the post is my excuse to keep the summary on tumblr xD

Oh also, i had read the star wars version of this by BairnSidhe first before i even realized it's based on this! The fic is also very very good.

more like it: https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Inspired%20by%20The%20Accidental%20Warlord%20and%20His%20Pack%20Series%20-%20inexplicifics/works

~

spoilers p1 - with a conquering air

Jaskier is sent as a tribute, given up as a sacrifice by his family and the other royalty, who think he'll be raped and killed by the Witchers.

When Eskel meets him in Kaer Mohen, he frees Jaskier from his bindings and brings him to Gerald and Yennefer. When she finds out he's a bard she decides Geralt needs a court bard, and Jaskier stays with them. He also tutors Ciri.

Jaskier finds that Geralt is kind, nice to Ciri, lets his friends tease him... and Geralt is hot. Jaskier starts falling in lust and love with him, and a year after he arrives they get together

spoilers p4 - only love proudly and gladly and well

Jaskier's home country negotiates a treaty with the Witchers. Jaskier rewrites the whole thing in their favor and accompanies the witchers and Yennefer there.

Jaskier helps clear up misconceptions about the Witchers to some younger court people, among them Milena of Roggeven, telling to them all about how nice the witchers treated him despite him being sent as a sacrifice, and how he fell in love with Geralt.

The witchers learn that way about him being a sacrifice in the first place. They have his father sent away, threatening to kill him should they ever see him again, and have the king sign the treaty without any changes.

Back home, several eligible women come to court Geralt. Yennefer and Jaskier make plans to make their stay miserable, as well as creating a set of rules for potential wives, including needing to accept Ciri as heir, and getting her approval for the position.

Jaskier also thinks about whether he wants his relationship with Geralt to be made official and decides that if Geralt wants that, he wants it too.

Milena is one of the ladies in waiting sent with the women, befriends Jaskier and falls in love with Lambert.

A princess attacks Jaskier, he survives, she is sent home via portal accompanied by angry witchers. The other women are kicked out, except Milena who swears loyalty.

spoilers p9 - your faults had made me love you more

Milena finds her place in Kaer Moen, teaching Ciri, helping Yennefer with Geralt's correspondence, sending letters home, helping Triss in the still, doing embroidery, learning dagger fighting from Lambert and teaching him to braid her hair.

Milena gets together with Lambert

Zofia, a human fighter woman and another witcher's lover, has some advice for her: to wait until she's ready to sleep with him, where a more private place to bathe is during her monthlies, and that witchers' lovers end up almost as immortal as the witchers themselves.

spoilers p11 - Twirl Three Notes and Make a Star

The witcher is invited to an even festival. Jaskier, Ciri and 13 witchers incl Eskel journey there also so Jaskier and Ciri won't be home for the Witcher Trials. They save a family of elves from a monster and Ciri befriends the kid.

Eskel and Jaskier grow closer. Jaskier knows Geralt would take Eskel to bed if he asked and suspects Eskel thinks the same of Geralt. Once they meet at the festival all three get together.

Jaskier meets a historian elf and invites him to Kaer Morhen to write the Witcher histories.

spoilers p14 - I Have Heart-Fire and Singing to Give

At some point I think before this part

Jaskier goes to Oxenfurt with Milena and 20 witchers to guard them incl Eskel and Lambert. During his performance, Milena is kidnapped through a portal and before they can do anything Jaskier is kidnapped through another one, Eskel stabbed as he follows them.

The plot was made by Milena's sister Marta, the princess Agatha who stabbed Jaskier before, and a sorceress. Marta wants the shame of her sister living with witchers removed from her family, Agatha just wants revenge.

Jaskier bandages Eskel, Milena has hairpins to unlock their shackles and hidden daggers from Lambert. When they confront them, Agatha tries to stab Milena and Milena kills her. Jaskier knocks out the sorceress, and the spell hiding them is lifted so Yennefer can find them.

Marta begs them not to have her actions affect her family and their little sister Marika. Jaskier offers for Marta to go into exile in a part of the wolf's country where they stopped on their way to an elf festival, in return for the baron's daughter becoming another lady in waiting for Ciri, so Marta won't have to be killed

spoilers p20 - The Debt Is Terrible That Must Be Paid In Song

Jaskier is temporarily turned into 6y/o Julian, scared of his own father and any adult men in power.

Smelling his dear and being angry of his father's treatment of him, Aubrey, who looks out for him like an older brother, realizes the treatment of the witchers-to-be is wrong. Once Jaskier is turned back, it is put to a vote, and decided that the training will change - from now on they will be trained like Ciri is, and she will train with them.

Spoilers p24 - the Shadow of the Mountains Will Not Fall

Geralt is dangerously injured in a plot by the king of temeria. He lives but requires many potions. Ciri organizes the trainees to help brew more while Jaskier organizes the rest of the castle.

Eskel kills the king and anyone else in the plot, then puts Griffin, a minor baron from the countryside who had no idea what's going on, on the throne.

In p25 we learn Emhyr var Emreis actually had something to do with the plot. He then learns who Ciri is and decides they need to try diplomacy instead.

Spoilers p28 - Found At Last In Meeting Eyes

Griffin, the new King of Temeria, needs a wife to establish his lineage and to help him rule the basically completely new court because everyone from the old one was killed... he asks the Warlord for aid in finding him a wife.

He has help from his older sister Tara in running the household, but they're worried about their youngest sister, 14 y/o Nix, who is a wildling and wouldn't do well at court, and while that's alright for a baron's youngest, it's not for a princess, and she'd be in danger if left home for much longer but miserable at court or married off... He and Tara decide that it will be a good question to pose to any potential wives(queens), will they try to break Nix's spirit or understand the true difficulties or even have valuable advice?

Marika, middle sister of Roggeven, decides that Milena is the only person in her family worth anything, and also her only chance at a good life, and begs her sister to find her a husband. She takes her dowry and her loyal maid Kasia and two guards and leaves for Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier introduces Marika and Griffin without telling them their true identities, so Marika only learns he's a king once she's already interested in him. Milena reassures her that she's a proper match for a king - not just a duke's daughter, but basically a sister by marriage to the Warlord through Milena and Lambert.

Marika suggests Nix could be a lady in waiting for Ciri.

P30 - Oh, Be For Me The Sky

Cat witcher Dragonfly comes across Livi, young noble Redanian noblewoman Oliwia, while on patrol, and Livi begs sanctuary from the White Wolf. She's fleeing from an arranged marriage to an older noble known for killing his wives and other young girls.

Livi stays in Kaer Morhen as Eskel's secretary and falls in love with Dragonfly.

Because the king clearly isn't keeping his nobles under control, Geralt wants to declare war on Redania.

P35 - Into the Light Out of Darkness

They plan to go Redania and observe to find more obvious breeches of the treaty because Cintra etc would be mad about conquering for just some 'minor' infractions. The plan is to go on 'progress' touring the established territory + visiting Redania to talk to the king about what's going on there and hopefully find a good reason to get rid of him

Meanwhile, Milena's friend Aleksander 'Sasha' is made Duke after the old Duke Oliwia was supposed to marry dies. Aleksander learns from the King and a mage that they have taken a witcher prisoner in Aleksander's new home and are using his blood on girls turning them into almost-witchers but killing most of them in the process. The Mage makes it so he can't talk about it to anyone, and stays with him to watch his correspondence. He has a magic box for writing Milena though and secretly sends her a letter.

Now, the Witchers have a reason to go to war. King Eist of Cintra and young Prince(?) Xenon of (?)(can't keep the damn names straight) bear witness to make sure Calanthe etc won't think the Warlord is conquering for no reason. They go to free the Witcher and young Zia, an outspoken former peasant girl, and Maja, Ada and Elena, burn down the house, then go kill the king. Aleksander comes to Kaer Morhen, his brother is the new Duke.

P38 - That Is Born Out Of Agony

(skipped C1 bc rape warning) Renfri, after killing a man who meant to hurt her, and on the run from mage Stragomir, decides to go to the Witchers for justice, even if they will slay her because she is cursed. If anyone kills her, it should be the White Wolf.

She stumbles into a dwarf tunnel, and journeyman Gilmeth takes her to his family home. Renfri uses the name Shrike and doesn't say she's royal. Gilmeth's grandfather has business with the Wolf (Renfri's stepmother allows mistreatment of nonhumans) and takes her and Gilmeth through dwarven routes to the mountain. Once they get back above ground, Stregomir finds them, but so do two witchers, they put an anti magic chain on him and Renfri and they all swear not to do harm, she swears not to do them harm of her free will, and they're taken to Kaer Morhen.

Geralt slays Strgomir for his lies and allows Renfri to stay as long as she likes. Ciri introduces her to Zofia. The dwarves also stay and design a better gatehouse as Gilmeth's mastery. Renfri's stepmother is killed by Witcher Coën who Renfri befriends, Renfri's father didn't know but also doesn't seem to care about her much except trying to avoid looking at her because she looks like his late wife. Renfri stays in Kaer Morhen.

P44 - Flung to Catch a Star

Emrys of Nilfgard sends prince Morvran Voorhis to negotiate a treaty with the White Wolf.

When Letho and other witchers meet the Nilfgardians and have them swear not to harm anyone in Kaer Morhen, three groomers and Morvran's personal manservant lie. The manservant had orders from a Nilfgardian royal (Evertsen not Emrys) to kidnap Ciri, the groomsmen had orders to hurt the horses, two for their own gain, one, Ilimar Laret, because his Lord threatened Laret's wife. He's taken with them and the wife rescued, the rest is killed.

Morvran has orders to both get the treaty and win Ciri's hand in marriage, and didn't expect that she's not open for political marriage, or any marriage until she's 18. When Geralt asks him why he even wants to be emperor, and explains that he and Ciri will be leaders only to protect people, Morvran reconsiders and vows to be a man the Witchers can respect.

Morvran's knight bodyguard(?) Cahir spends time with the oldest Witcher trainees, a mixed school group incl. Eryk, who has a puppy love crush on Eskel. Cahir is in Emrys service as a political hostage, and comes to trust and believe in Movran properly during their time in Kaer Morhan when Movran invites him to speak freely, listens to him, takes him into his personal service, and offers him use of his first name in private. Sergeant Hanif is also part of some of their meetings.

Geralt says no treaty as long as Evertsen has any power, Emrys sends them Evertson as a prisoner and he's killed. Yennefer can make portals to and from Nilfgard much easier than should be possible, Jaskier suspects it's because she's getting so much practice.

While treaty proceedings are underway, Princess Rhiannon of Poviss comes to ask for Poviss to join the Warlord's lands because it's the sensible thing to do. Geralt accepts and it will be official when they'll visit Poviss during Progress. When Cahir hears of this, he's at first angry because Poviss gives up the kind of independence his own country (Vicovaro) wishes it had from Nilfgard, but he understands Wolfland isn't Nilfgard.

~

The treaty is finally made with three conditions: from the Wolf, a) that Movran tells Emrys Ciri won't come to Nilfgard except to conquer it as long as there are slaves, and b) (secret to anyone else), Movran swears to work towards a Nilfgard that no longer has slaves. And from Emrys, that Ciri and Geralt will come and meet him on neutral ground.

P45 Wrapped in the Wind and the Sun

Yennefer meets Fringilla to renew their friendship and ally against the Brotherhood.

& Here's a couple

Other

Versions

Of

The moodboard :D

Main image sources here, more sources: Yennefer Eskel Ciri2 Geralt2 potions ruins Witcher

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3478006

[inexplicifics]

🧡 (kissing in bed / lazy kiss / cuddling) AWAU Geralt/Eskel/Jaskier

“You’re still here,” Jaskier says, a little surprised, as he opens his eyes to find Geralt still acting as his pillow, Eskel pressed against his back with a hand resting on Geralt’s chest. Usually they’re up and gone well before Jaskier wakes, off to run about on the practice grounds and do Witchery things like that.

“Snowstorm last night,” Geralt murmurs. “Still snowing.”

“No point trying to spar when we can’t even see,” Eskel agrees. “Even monsters don’t come out in weather like this.”

“Ooh! So I’ve got you all to myself for a while?” Jaskier asks delightedly.

“You do,” Eskel chuckles.

“Glorious,” Jaskier says, delighted, and stretches up until he can kiss Geralt, long and slow and luxurious. Geralt makes a low, pleased sound and laces his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, tilting his head to a slightly different angle and deepening the kiss.

“Always so pretty,” Eskel murmurs. “And you smell so good, catmint.”

Jaskier stretches and wriggles, showing off happily as Eskel runs a hand down his side and squeezes his arse gently.

“What do I smell like, my heart?” he asks as his and Geralt’s lips part.

“Lust and honey,” Geralt murmurs, eyes blown black.

“Best smell in the world,” Eskel agrees.

Jaskier rolls over, grinning. “You are so very good for my ego, sunshine,” he says, and reaches up to pull Eskel down into a kiss. Eskel comes easily, laughing into Jaskier’s mouth.

“Lovely,” Geralt murmurs. “My lark and my good right hand.”

“He’s lovely, at least,” Eskel murmurs.

Jaskier tugs gently on his hair. “None of that. You’re beautiful, our amber-eyed darling.”

“Yes,” Geralt agrees, and leans in to kiss Eskel above Jaskier’s face. Jaskier sighs happily. The White Wolf and the dark, perfectly matched in every way.

“I will write you so many songs,” he whispers. “And even if I write a song each day for the rest of my hopefully very long life, they will never truly encompass how beautiful the two of you are together.”

“And we will cherish every one of them,” Eskel says, leaning down to kiss Jaskier again.

“Lark,” Geralt agrees, stealing his own kiss, and Jaskier laughs and laces his hands through both his lovers’ hair and lets his Wolves kiss him to their hearts’ content.

(Or here on AO3!)

[thecrownprincessbride]

NEW CHAPTER

“Eskel,” he says brightly, and the amber-eyed Witcher freezes, forgetting he’s in the middle of exchanging hits with Lambert and getting promptly punched in the ribs. “Me?” he gasps, rubbing his side. As answer, Jaskier pushes a very large package over to him. “Why does he get his gift before me?” Lambert complains. “And why is it so big?” “Lambert,” Vesemir warns quietly, and the young Witcher crosses his arms but stays quiet. Eskel, however, just stares at Jaskier, unmoving. “A present? For me?” “Of course, for you.” He tries to smile, but it comes out a little faint. “What the fuck?” Lambert exclaims, staring at the open box in front of Eskel. “A fucking violin?” “Geralt told me you used to play until...until people convinced you that Witchers are not fit to be bards.” Fucking idiots, all of them, he thinks but doesn’t say it. He wants to make Eskel an offer, reach out to the Witcher, because he knows that Eskel won’t. He, like Geralt, is too used to denying himself things, even as simple ones as friendship.  “I...” he begins, gathering courage for a moment. “I’m also not currently a bard...so I thought we could be not-bards together.”

Chapter 42: A sanctuary

BEFORE THE FALL by TheCrownprincessBride

- A Djinn!Jaskier AU

[on-a-lucky-tide]

I love the cuteagens! Maybe cuteagens staring Eskel and Letho?

The fire crackled between them, the discarded skin of the trout they had consumed half an hour before curling in the flames, and Letho tasted the air. He wasn't sure what possessed him in the moment. Around others, he masked his impulses carefully, because they provided too much of an insight into his relative strengths and potential weaknesses. But with Eskel sitting opposite, illuminated in the flickering amber of the firelight, his body a little dirty, a little travelled, with pheromones and sweat lingering in the linen of his open-necked shirt, Letho found it difficult to control himself.

His tongue lacked tastebuds or scent receptors, but it did collect chemicals from the air for him to press against the roof of his mouth, and it was here that his brain could process the taste of the world around him. Earthy salt from the remains of the fish and the damp soil, the rich tang of mineral oils Eskel was using to coat his steel blade after their successful arachas hunt, and a unique, spicy perfume that was uniquely Eskel. He tasted different to Geralt; Geralt was horse hair, arenaria and bitter on the tongue; Eskel was treated leather, deep, musky, something to be savoured. It was that aroma that had drawn Letho's eye in the tavern where they'd met that morning, and now it made his serpentine eyes flicker closed for a fraction of a second, so he could--

"Everythin' a'right?" asked Eskel in his usual, laidback drawl.

Letho opened his eyes slowly. "Nothin' amiss."

"Just... you licked the air."

"Salt on my lips."

"N'aww," Eskel said, his scarred lips quirking up at the corner. Couldn't get much past this sharp-eyed blood hound. "You licked the air. Seen you do it a few times before, now I come to think of it. Thought I was just seeing things."

Hmm. Letho had not been as discreet as he'd first thought. He considered his options. A continued lie wouldn't earn much more than a dismissive snort from the wolf, further confirming Eskel's belief that Letho hid more than he shared, which meant he was untrustworthy, or he could share this one little tidbit. A tiny sliver of trust in a witcher that had walked the Path as long as he had. Eskel had his own code based on honour, neutrality and avoidance of conflict. The threat was relatively minor and, Letho reasoned, if Eskel knew, then he could taste Eskel more often. Even if only on the air around him.

"I smell things that way."

"Huh." Eskel appeared to consider the information. It would go one of two ways. He would either judge it not sufficiently interesting and continue tending to the sword across his lap or, more likely, he would want to investigate. That was one thing Eskel and Geralt had in common, by Letho's evaluation. Curiosity. But whereas Geralt's extended to politics and people, Eskel's was purely based in the natural world. Couldn't show him an odd looking mushroom without him snaffling it off for a little analysis. If pressed, Letho would admit it to be somewhat endearing. "How's that work then?"

Those deep amber eyes, so much richer in colour than Letho's own, widened a little, trained on Letho's mouth. Letho let his tongue poke out again, topping up the taste of Eskel against the roof of his mouth. "There's a vomeronasal organ in the roof of my mouth. Works through chemoreception, which is--"

"I know what chemoreception is," Eskel huffed, putting his sword aside to roll onto his knees. "Same way basilisks and slyzards smell. Never considered you'd've been given mutagens from those sources. Makes sense though, biggest vipers outside the ones in the grass, although I always figured you'd have had more wyvern, an'--" Eskel was shuffling over but hesitated when Letho raised an eyebrow. Eskel's propriety caught up with him, and he sat back on his heels with a quiet rumble, a chastened hound whose nose had wandered too close to the dinner plate, "can I look?"

Eskel looking meant he got closer, and now that Letho had conceded a little, he wanted to concede more, just to see where it led. It was a slippery slope, and he could hear Ivar's lecture about the duplicitous nature of other schools droning in the back of his head. They were a distraction from the mission, blind to the real purpose of the order. Letho packaged him away in the recesses of his memory and focused on the broadness of Eskel's face.

Hillfolk, Letho recalled. The witch had said as much during one of her many pontifications. As much of a pain in his arse as she had been, Yennefer had provided lots of intelligence on the nature of the wolf school. Letho traced Eskel's wide brow and nose with his eyes; his fingers itched to follow their path, but he kept them resolutely on his thighs as his mouth dropped open for Eskel's inspection.

"Minor warping of the palate, but not much," Eskel murmured, leaning in closer. Letho couldn't hide his body's reaction. His skin crackled like it had been touched by lightning, and the smell of Eskel's made his head light. His palm left his thigh and cupped beneath Eskel's chin to pull him away, but only far enough to meet his eyes. The deepest gold Letho had ever seen, richer than Toussaintese honey. Eskel grimaced, "Got somethin' to say?" Eskel's fingers tightened around Letho's wrist in mild warning.

It was then that Letho realised what he'd done. Lifted a wolf's head to expose his throat. But Eskel hadn't bitten back, hadn't shoved him away; his pupils were blown wide, two black suns highlighted in liquid amber. Letho tilted his own head, tongue darting briefly between his lips. Arousal. And not just his own. Eskel had intended this to happen. "You're playing a dangerous game," Letho said.

"Only play games when the odds are in my favour," Eskel replied, keeping his gaze steady. Letho tested, slipping his hand a little lower to the hinge of Eskel's jaw. He saw the flicker of appreciation even if Eskel tried to keep his gaze level. Eskel pushed against Letho's palm. "Your move."

Letho considered his options, measured the disadvantages of revealing this little crack in his facade, and pulled Eskel towards him. Letho made the wolf arch, stretching him off balance to keep the game in his favour, and brought their lips together. Eskel tasted just as Letho expected; like the divine come to earth. The scent of him washed through Letho's body like a tide, consuming his every sense, leaving quivering eagerness in its wake.

When the wolf let out a little whine, a trill of pleasure followed by a slump on his posture, Letho crowded him to the ground. He slipped a hand into that awful fucking haircut to force Eskel's head back, and licked a long stripe up his exposed throat. Eskel arched against him, strong hands gripping hard at Letho's shoulders. "If I'd known you were so eager to show me your belly, dog," Letho growled. "I'd'a offered sooner."

"Shut up and fuck me," Eskel snarled, or tried, his voice broke around the moan Letho forced from him with a sucking bite at the hinge of his jaw.

Letho smirked, teeth somehow sharper in the dying firelight. "Gladly."

[open--till--midnight]

The Company of Strangers

eskel x fem!reader

summary | you meet an unlikely friend in your small hometown, he brings you the adventure you crave. even if it wasn't his idea.

warnings | language, i think that's it, unbeta-d and only sorta proof read

word count | 5.6k

a/n | this ended up going kind of off the rails bc i didn't know where i was going with it, it's a little all over the place, but that's ok

The noise was almost too much for you. It was uncommon for the tavern to be this full, but regardless, the whole town seemed to be enjoying themselves in what was usually your quiet and safe space.

But tonight, you didn’t mind the crowd. The ever-present loneliness of the small town got to you more than you cared to admit. Tonight, the crowd fostered a sense of community, one that you felt a little less alone in.

You parted your way through the sea of patrons until you found a seat at the uncharacteristically empty bar. A glance around the tavern told you everything you needed to know. The guests had crammed themselves at the tables, pulling bar stools overall in avoidance of the man leaning his elbow on the bar.

Upon your first peek over at him, he startled you. He was surely an intimidating sight. If the light armor wasn’t what set you off first, it was surely the double swords strapped to his back. It was certainly the glimpse of the scars covering his cheek when he turned and met your eye.

Heat crept up your cheeks far too quickly for your liking, promptly causing you to look back down at your hands before you nonchalantly ordered your drink. When you braved another glance at the man your features softened. Once past the gruff first appearance, he was clearly still just a man. A man hunched over his drink, back to the wall, and eyes sweeping the tavern.

You didn’t have the time to place the look on his face before he caught you again. Now you just felt silly. Grabbing your mug, you shuffled down to the other end of the bar to where he sat. You eyed the stool as if asking for approval, when he nodded you sat.

You gave yourself a bit of space from the man, mainly due to nerves, sitting one seat over from him, but facing him all the same. The dim candlelight of the tavern had shadowed his eyes from your previous position, but up close you took in their amber hue. They were gorgeous, really, you’d never seen anything quite like them before.

He tore his gaze away from you and directed his attention back to his mug. The heat in your cheeks returned once you realized you had been staring for just a second too long. When you quietly apologized, he quirked his brow and smirked.

“What?”

“Nothing.” There was an air of amusement in his voice. His denial only sparked more interest in you.

“No, tell me.

“It’s just that I’m used to stares, but- well, no one’s ever apologized for it before. Just strange, that’s all.”

“Why strange?”

When he didn’t respond, you realized he probably felt pressured, so you turned the conversation back to yourself.

“Well, if it’s worth anything, I am sorry. I’ve just never seen eyes like yours before. They’re brilliant.”

Fuck. You managed to fluster him, and he still looked uncomfortable.

“Are you a witcher?” You silently cursed yourself, why can’t you keep your damn mouth shut. You were pleased, though, when he nodded and responded with a simple ‘yes’.

“That’s just- wow.” The grin on your face was impossible to get rid of, despite the look of confusion written on his face. “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve always envied witchers.”

“Why?”

“You get to travel. You get to see the world. You have no restrictions, to the best of my knowledge.”

“I guess, but it’s not all pleasant. Monsters are brutal and humans aren’t kind to witchers.”

“What about me? Am I not being kind?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I’m talking to you, duh.” You grinned widely at him, and he returned with a twitch of his lip. “What’s your name, anyways?”

“Eskel.” He was still eyeing you hesitantly, it made you determined to make him believe your kindness was genuine.

“I’m y/n.” You felt at a loss for words. The witcher had enchanted you, or it at least felt like he had. He must have taken notice of your state, misinterpreted it because his barely-there grin had dropped when he started speaking.

“Why are you doing this?” The words felt silly coming out of him. It felt self-pitying, and it embarrassed him.

“What do you mean? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. No, you didn’t. I’m just a bit confused, that’s all.” He paused before realizing he hadn’t really answered your question. “You didn’t have to come over and talk to me, and you stayed even after you asked if I was a witcher.”

“I never got that. Witchers help people. You deal with the dangers that other people can’t handle. All you do is help, you put your lives on the line, and you get bullied in return? I just can’t begin to understand it.”

Eskel could feel his heart start beating a little faster, just another thing that confused him. Part of him thought this was a dream, this kind of thing just doesn’t happen to him. Geralt, yes, but he considered his brother to be far better looking than he. It was a false belief, but it felt all too real.

And on top of that, he found you to be very attractive. He never gave much merit to external appearances, but something about you just grabbed a hold of him and refused to let go. He was wary. He knew he could run, keep himself and his heart safe, but he didn’t want to. What he did want was to believe this. Even if it was just for a little while. He figured that it was worth the risk of being made to be a fool.

“Everything ok up there?” You tilted your head to the side, exaggerating your teasing tone.

“You still didn’t answer my question, why are you doing this?”

“Would it be too pathetic to say I’m lonely?” He shook his head. “I’m bored too. Bored of this town and bored of this life. You’re the first new face I’ve seen in what feels like years. Nobody ever comes here, and certainly, no one ever stays. But you’re new, and you’re interesting. You have stories, and you will continue making them. Me? Well, I’ll be here my whole life. I know how my life will end the same as every other woman in this miserable town. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bother you with my sad ramblings.”

“Nonsense. Talking is talking, right? I don’t mind.” He stated this as though it was obvious, and you guessed it probably was. “Well, how do women in this town fare? How can you be so sure it’ll be the same fate for you?”

“My parents have told me as much. I’ll be sold off to the highest bidder. My mother hates it when I word it like that, but am I wrong? The same thing happened to her and her marriage is in wrecks, it was never a happy union. As of now, I have the most freedom I will ever have. Once I’m married, I won’t even be able to come here by myself. I’ll have even less of a life than I do now.” You sighed. “Now do you see why I envy your lifestyle?”

“I guess so. Why don’t you leave then? What’s keeping you here?”

“It’s not so simple. I resent my parents, but I don’t know why I find it so hard to leave them. Even if I did manage enough courage to do it, I have nowhere to go. If I decided to travel from place to place, I wouldn’t even know where to start. I don’t know if I’d survive out there on my own.”

He was taking a bit to respond, but quite frankly, you didn’t want to discuss this any further. So you swiftly changed the subject.

“What’s a witcher doing here? I haven’t heard of any monsters.” Eskel seemed relieved at the topic change as well, his shoulders visibly relaxed as he took another drink.

“Technically, it’s in the next town over. But the inn here is closer.” He noticed your intrigue and continued, “It’s a werewolf, nasty fuckers. Full moon’s tomorrow, so I’ll be fighting it then.”

He went on a bit more about werewolves, the most he’d talked the entire night. It made you smile, seeing him relax, happy to be talking about his work. You didn’t bother trying to tone down your smile, you didn’t even turn away when you felt your cheeks heat up.

Your conversation was interrupted when the man behind the counter announced it was closing time.

“Sorry for keeping you here so late, I lost track of time.”

“Don’t apologize.” The smile you gave him made his heart flutter, “This is the best night I’ve had in a very long time.”

“Well, I should probably get a room before they close up.”

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine, but why don’t you come back to my house? Prices for rooms are steep, no customers and all. You wouldn’t need to bother paying for a room while you’re here.”

“Oh, I couldn’t…” He spoke hesitantly, and it seemed like he had more to say. This was bold for you, it wasn’t the sort of thing you usually did and you worried you’d overstepped.

“I don’t expect anything from you, Eskel, if that’s what you’re worried about. I really enjoyed talking with you, and I’d like to keep your company as long as I can.”

Hearing his name on your tongue did things to him, made him bolder. Just as he’d done to you.

“If you’re sure…”

“Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure. Come on.” You dared to reach out your hand to him, thankful when he took it.

Eskel walked between you and Scorpion. You’d told him you shared a barn with your parents, and that there was room for his horse there. He stopped in his tracks when you told him this. The thought of your parents completely slipped his mind when he agreed to stay with you.

“Your parents….”

“Oh. Don’t worry. I don’t live with them, well, not technically. I’ve got a tiny cottage behind theirs. And it’s none of their business who comes and goes from my home.” You gave him an assuring smile and kept walking.

It wasn’t a very far way to your home, you reached it within minutes. As you led Eskel to the barn, you heard someone shout your name. You turned your head to see your mother, walking towards you. She was still dressed even though it was just after midnight. She must have been waiting for you.

“Ma, please.” You reached into your pocket for your key, handing it to Eskel, “Here, once you’re finished with your horse, go inside. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Although he looked somewhat uncomfortable, he did what you asked. Your mother’s glare never left him until he disappeared behind your door.

“Could you have at least tried to be nice?”

“Why is he here? I don’t want that mutant anywhere near you.” You had to bite back your tongue so you didn’t make things worse.

“Well, that’s not really any of your business, is it?” Apparently, you didn’t try hard enough.

“It is as long as you’re under my roof, y/n.”

“You mean the roof I’m paying for? Sure it’s your, no, father’s, property but it sure as hell is my house.” You swore your mother could have burned a hole through you with her gaze, but instead, she turned on her heel and walked away, without another word.

As you made your way to your door, tears burned the backs of your eyes. You hoped, prayed even, that Eskel had not heard your conversation. It was brief, but hurtful nonetheless.

When you entered, he was standing by your hearth, leaning his elbow on the mantle. You tried to hide your teary eyes from him as you lit the numerous oil lamps around the room. Once the room was significantly brighter, you sat down with a sigh.

“Hey, make yourself at home. You can put your stuff anywhere.” While his awkwardness was endearing, you wanted him to feel comfortable. “I’m sorry about my mother. I didn’t think she would be up.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“Did you hear her?” He nodded, without looking at you. “I’m so sorry.”

“We aren’t responsible for the actions of others, y/n. You’ve shown me nothing but kindness, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you.” It was a meek response, but all you could muster up. “I guess you should get some sleep if you’re fighting a werewolf tomorrow.” You raised your eyebrows as your tone shifted into something much more lighthearted, earning a laugh from the witcher.

He was still smiling when you came back to him with some blankets and a pillow. Your couch was just as cozy as any bed, you made sure of this. It was also more than wide enough for the bulky witcher.

You said your goodnights and went to your room. Each unbeknownst to the other, you occupied each other's thoughts for the rest of the night. The uncertainty Eskel held had slowly worn away. It was the mere fact that you asked nothing in return. He knew that might change in the morning, but for now, he could relax.

You knew that Eskel would be gone in a few days, but that didn’t stop you from enjoying his company. While it lasted, you could pretend. Pretend that this was your life. Spontaneity may not be the same thing as adventure, but right now, it certainly felt like it.

The sun rays gently stretching across your room told you that the morning had come. Once you were dressed, you left your room. You were greeted by Eskel, who was sitting on the couch, rummaging through his bag. The blankets you had laid out on the couch the night before were neatly folded at its edge.

You exchanged good mornings while you walked to the kitchen to start boiling water. You only had to cross the room to be able to do this. The kitchen was separated from the rest of the room by your table, so you had a perfect view of the witcher while you worked.

“How do you prepare for your hunts?”

Just as he had last night, he looked the most at peace while he was talking about his work. It made sense to you, although you didn’t know anything about witchers outside of their occupation. He explained his potions and the weaknesses of the werewolf, to say it fascinated you would be an understatement. And he’d never felt more comfortable around someone who wasn’t a witcher. There was just something about you that excited him.

“Well, before I go tonight to kill it, I need to check out where it’s hiding. It won’t be awake during the day, so I’ll just be assessing the area and making my plan.”

In a fearless moment, you asked, “Can I come with you?”

“You really shouldn’t. I can’t guarantee your safety.”

“I don’t need you to promise my safety. I’m curious. And I’ll probably just end up following you anyways.”

His look of concern disappeared with an eye roll. “If I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?”

“Absolutely.” The brightness of your smile could have killed him.

After breakfast, you set out. Eskel sat you in front of him on Scorpion. It was a short enough trip, and Scorpion wasn’t saddled with all of his belongings so he could handle the extra weight. There wasn’t a beat of silence for the entire ride. Conversation with Eskel felt natural like you’d always known him.

Silence only fell when Eskel raised a hand, signaling to you that you were near the cave. He dismounted but told you to stay put. As per your agreement, you complied.

You watched as he surveyed the surroundings. Marking spots that would give him an advantage during combat. Your eyes only left him a couple of times to look around. The cave entrance was embedded in the side of a hill, steep enough to ensure the fight would stay north of the opening. Trees surrounded the clearing, tall and thick, trunks wide enough for the witcher to hide behind. Some were smaller, but together, they all formed a dense forest.

Below you, Scorpion shuddered. He moved a bit, shaking his head. You silently caught Eskel’s attention, his worried look only worsened your fear. He clutched his medallion and drew his silver sword. Once he heard the echo of a low growl, he pointed into the forest. You understood you needed to run.

You did try, but Scorpion bucked you off, running into the forest without you. Eskel pointed again, this time he gestured to the tops of the trees. His face expressed a greater worry now.

It didn’t take you long to find a tree with branches low enough for you. It was a small tree, and certainly not safe if the werewolf caught sight of you. Once you had gotten to the middle of the tree, you carefully crawled along the branch to the next tree. You repeated this until you found yourself high up in a massive tree. Large enough that the branch you sat on could hide you well enough. The only problem was that this tree was just a little too close to the clearing. You had a perfect, if not somewhat obstructed view of the beast as it stepped out of its cave.

Eskel spun his sword and stood his ground. His fingers formed an unfamiliar sign and you held your breath. As much as your body told you to look away, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The witcher fought with such skill and precision that your worry for his safety slightly settled. Your fear hadn’t died out, but you felt quite a bit safer knowing of his capabilities.

You’d always thought these fights were quick. Of course, witchers were skilled, but you never thought about the skills the monsters brought with them. It was only when the werewolf landed a blow on Eskel’s chest that you had to look away. You were having more and more trouble keeping quiet, but if you wanted this to go smoothly and end quickly, you had to try harder. Now you were squeezing your eyes shut so hard that they started to hurt.

Not long after, you heard your name being called. The panicked, yet still gruff voice of the witcher was calling for you, looking for you.

“I’m coming down.”

When he saw you he stood at the bottom of the tree, making sure you didn’t fall. The man had a nasty wound running down his chest, but he still made sure you could get down from the tree safely.

But it wasn’t the tree that made you fall, no, it was the witcher. And you were falling hard.

He helped you gain stability when you finally got down. His hand didn’t leave your arm until he found Scorpion.

“You’re hurt, Eskel.” Fuck. Of course he knew he was hurt.

“Yup, I can see that.”

“Sorry. Can I help?”

“I- I need to get- I left the supplies back…”

You shushed him, and after he attached the werewolf’s head to the saddle, you joined him atop the horse. The journey back was faster, you could feel Eskel growing heavier against your back. Making sure that his arms were secure around your waist, you urged Scorpion to speed up.

It had been an easy enough wound to stitch up. He’d lost a lot of blood, but the wound wasn’t as deep as you’d expected. When you were done cleaning and bandaging him, he sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry you had to be there for that. I didn’t think he would come out. I didn’t-”

“It’s ok, really. I told you I didn’t expect anything of you. I practically made you bring me along.”

Clearly, he wasn’t convinced. His head was tilted down, watching his fidgeting hands.

“Look at me.” You had to guide his face towards yours with your hand, but he didn’t fight it. “I’m telling you, it’s ok. I didn’t even get hurt.”

He swallowed and blinked as if ridding an eyelash from his eye.

“So I guess you aren’t heading out tonight, then. Probably a good thing. I would have followed you again.” This time you beamed at him, he returned with a smirk.

“You’re trouble, aren’t you?”

You shrugged your shoulders and made your way across the room to the kitchen. It was mid-afternoon and you hadn’t eaten lunch. You couldn’t help the falter in your grin as you thought about Eskel’s departure. He already did his job. Once he’s adequately healed, he will leave. Then all he needed to do was collect his reward. He must have noticed your shift in mood.

“Are you alright?”

“Mhm.” You figured your answer wasn’t very convincing so you elaborated, “I’ll have my own adventures someday. I know I will. Just- just not yet.”

“Haven’t known you long but I believe you’re right.”

You spent the rest of the night talking, keeping away from any sensitive subjects. It was lighthearted and contented. You sipped on cherry wine and picked through your basket of fruits and cheeses.

It was well past midnight by the time you parted for the night. Sleep had a hard time catching either of you. Your minds were too restless.

The next morning, Eskel went to collect his reward. Although his wound had healed far quicker than you expected and despite the fact that he was well enough to leave, he left his things behind. You both knew he very well could have left, and that it was far more trouble to make the hour-long journey to and from the neighboring village. Though, neither of you mentioned it.

He stayed one more day after that. The morning of his departure put the most strain on your brief acquaintance. He was preparing his things, taking his time in every aspect of it. You were seated on the couch opposite him, barely focused on the book in your hands.

You watched his hands as they skillfully detailed his swords. The way his brows furrowed in concentration. The subtle way his lip was tugged up by the scar that ran up his cheek. It was all so captivating, all so entirely perfect.

It took everything you had not to beg him. Beg him to stay, beg him to take you with him, it didn’t matter. You couldn’t explain the intense connection you felt with the witcher. It felt otherworldly, it felt like magic.

Barely any words were spoken that day. You made him food and you ate in silence. When he told you it was time for him to depart, you pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. It felt natural, it felt right.

You swore to never forget that lopsided smile, the color of his eyes, and his entire being. You tried your best to commit him to memory before he closed the door behind him.

Though you were entirely aware of your emotions towards Eskel, you felt betrayed by your tears that fell immediately after you heard the click the door made when it shut. Your mind raced, and you decided it was now or never.

You packed your few belongings and donned your most sensible traveling clothes. When you stepped out of your cottage, it felt like you were opening a new chapter of your life. It was scary, you wouldn’t deny that. But stronger than the fear was the excitement.

You made a large circle around your parent’s property, hoping they wouldn’t see you. If they had, you never would be able to leave this dismal village.

Once successfully off your parents' property, you started looking for the witcher. He hadn’t had much of a head start on you, so you found him fairly easily. You stayed far behind him, only close enough that you wouldn’t lose sight of him. When you were out of your village, you moved into the forest, off the path so if he looked back he wouldn’t see you.

You’d only been out of your village a handful of times, none of them by yourself. Your fear once again overtook you. This time, it was relieved only slightly by the presence of the witcher far ahead of you.

It wasn’t the monsters you feared, again, you had Eskel there. Whether he knew it or not. What scared you was the unknown. When will your parents notice your absence? How will they react? You tried not to think about it. This was your life, and if you had told them first they would have never given you the chance to escape. For once, you had a choice.

About an hour and a half into the journey, you lost focus and gained on the witcher. Close enough that when you accidentally tripped over a root, he most definitely heard you. Without even the help of his heightened senses.

Eskel drew his sword, steel, not silver. He must have heard your heartbeat because he started walking in your direction, calling out as he went. You figured you weren’t going to get away and you didn’t want to scare him. Your best bet was to make yourself known.

“It’s me, Eskel.” You dropped your pack and raised your hands, “I’m sorry.”

But he didn’t look mad, just shocked.

“How the hell- why- y/n?!”

“I’m sorry. I just thought that if I asked you, you would have said no. You still can. Say no, I mean. If you don't want me to come with you, that's ok. But I have to leave that town. I can make it on my own. I just like your company so I figured I do this until…well, this happened.”

He couldn’t seem to close his mouth or relax his brow. He was surprised, to say the absolute least.

“It’s…ok. Yeah.” That grin was going to be the death of you. “Besides, how could I just leave you here? To fend for yourself? Absolutely not.”

Secretly, he was positively ecstatic. He couldn’t be happier that you came along, and neither could you. Both of you downplayed this, but that didn’t dampen any of your emotions.

He helped you secure the lighter of your two packs to Scorpion, the other comfortably slung over your shoulder. When you started walking, the silence was comfortable. Neither of you had anything to say, nor did you feel the need to fill the air with unnecessary small talk.

There was the occasional chatter, mostly you pointing things out. Like a flower, colored with such a deep purple, a shade you’d never seen before.

It was embarrassing really, that you got so excited over something as simple as a pretty flower. He’d seen everything, nothing surprised him anymore. Well, not nothing, as he’d recently learned. It didn’t matter to Eskel though, your joy made him happy.

Once the sun started to set, you stopped for the day. You’d gathered sticks for him to build the fire while he, very quickly, caught something to eat. It wasn’t much but you were content. Eskel was too.

Neither of you believed in love at first sight. Frankly, you both thought the idea ridiculous. But still, there was nothing else to describe what had blossomed between you over the past few months.

It could be love, but neither of you had ever felt that. Sure, there was the love you felt for your emotionally distant parents, but that couldn’t compare. It didn’t even come close. For Eskel, there were his brothers, Vesemir, and even the memory of his mother. But again, it wasn’t the same.

One day, you both informally confessed.

Your face grew hot, and you words came out in a nervous stutter, “It’s like- well…I love you as a friend, so much. And on the other hand, I really like you. Like…like you, like you.”

Eskel’s face was fully flushed, he just managed to keep his composure a bit better than you had. “I- y/n, me too.”

It wasn’t what he meant to say, or it just sounded better in his head, but you got it. You took his hand and laced your fingers with his, swinging your arm once before continuing to walk. When you settled for the night, your nerves were still up. That was ok, though. Everything was when you were with Eskel.

He held you close as you fell asleep, and still as you woke.

The next morning, you walked ahead of him. You turned around for a moment, and his breath hitched. The sun on your skin made you look downright ethereal.

When fall began to near its end, Eskel asked you to join him at Kaer Morhen for the winter. Of course, you agreed.

He had told you the journey would be rough, but you hadn’t even started up the mountain when the snow came.

“I’m so fucking sorry, y/n. If I’d known-”

“Exactly, Eskel. If you’d known, you c-couldn’t have. This f-fucking snow is not your fault.” You kicked yourself for letting your chattering teeth express your discomfort through your words. It only made him sigh.

“We need to keep moving. To keep us warm, but also we need to make it before the snow gets too high. Or, shit, or it starts to ice over.”

Your eyes widened at this and you took his hand. “Ok then, let's keep moving.”

It didn’t take nearly as long as he thought it would to get to the keep. You were both nearly frozen solid, but you’d made it.

You shook even after entering the great hall. Eskel greeted Vesemir before he turned back to you.

“This is y/n. We started traveling together mid-spring.”

The older witcher eyed him, but he still embraced you. The two caught up over warm drinks at the table in front of the hearth. You sat beside Eskel, quiet but content.

You’d learned that Lamber was the only one who had arrived. There may be more to come, but the weather made that unlikely. As if he heard them talking about him, Lambert entered the room. Immediately, he laughed, assumingly at your presence.

“Come on now, Lambert.” Eskel was surprised that Vesemir was able to quiet him.

You were introduced, though Lambert was still skeptical of your relationship. When they were out of earshot, Eskel assured him that there were feelings, but nothing happened.

“Are you broken, brother? Why the fuck would you let that happen?”

“Don’t want to move too fast for her.”

The younger witcher groaned before walking away, rather rudely you thought, though you couldn’t hear their conversation.

Eskel led you to the cleanest free room he could find. It was rather close to his. He made sure you knew that if you needed anything, he was right there.

The bed felt wonderful underneath your aching body. The warmth of the fire only added to your comfort. Soon, though, they would be of no help to you. You tossed and turned for a while. Whatever you did, you couldn’t fall asleep.

You went from sleeping within feet of a witcher to sleeping alone in a strange place. Even though you knew it was safe, you felt uneasy.

You considered your actions before taking them, but you ultimately decided that you couldn’t stay in this room. Wrapping a blanket around yourself, you walked to Eskel’s room and knocked on his door.

Almost immediately, he appeared in front of you.

“y/n? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep. I just- I don’t know… I’m not used to this place. I-” You took a brief pause, but Eskel was patient. “I couldn’t sleep without you.”

He hooked his fingers under your chin, leading you to meet his eye before giving you a soft smile and leading you inside.

“I couldn’t sleep either.”

You sat on the edge of his bed, not wanting to do anything he didn’t want you to.

“You need to talk about it?”

“No,” You murmured. He pulled the covers aside and let you lay down. Waiting until you were comfortable, he wrapped his arm around you, placing his other arm under his pillow. You grabbed a hold of his hand rather needily, which earned you a chuckle.

“Shush.” He complied. It wasn’t long before you began to drift away into sleep. Both of you dreamed that night.

When you woke, you were chest to chest with Eskel. Your head was tucked under his chin and your legs were tangled together. You looked up at him, savoring the sweetness of the moment. When he woke, he locked eyes with you. It was not awkward, you weren’t embarrassed or nervous. It felt natural.

You stayed like this for a minute, just taking each other in. The soft sounds of your breathing grew louder as your faces drew nearer. It was an unconscious act, but neither of you pulled away. Your lips hover just an inch away from his, testing these new boundaries. Control, for both of you, melted away the second the gap was closed. It was soft, merely pressing your lips against his. He moved slowly in your lead before pulling back. His smile met his eyes as he spoke.

“Good morning, y/n.”

“Good morning, Eskel.”

[mollymawkwrites]

Ah! Congrats! I humbly suggest, "Don't squeeze so tight!" Pairing is Eskel's tits/anyone. 😁😘

I am getting closer to 200 words, I swear... But Eskel's tits deserved more than that. I hope you find enough tit worship for your taste here, because this is just that. Thank you for the amazing prompt!

CW: nothing, just tits. 18+ only under the cut!

In all his long, not completely human life, Jaskier had seen many wonders, and even moreso since he had started travelling with Geralt all these years ago. The vertiginous cliffs of Ard Skellig, the golden stallions of Ofir, and even the mysterious crumbling ruin of the School of the Wolf, only known by a few still-living people. 

None of these compared to Eskel's fat tits. 

It was the first thing Jaskier had noticed when Geralt had introduced them, the amber eyed Witcher's shirt pulling taught over his glorious pectorals; and the poet hoped it would be the last thing he'd see, the vivid picture stapled behind his lids as he'd breathe his last breath, hopefully in a long time. 

And, though Geralt's eager ass and Lambert's filthy mouth were close behind, it was Jaskier's favourite place to put his cock. 

"Fuck," he panted, sweat pooling at the small of his back as he thrust his hips without rhythm nor control, his dick snug in the hot valley of Eskel's tits, the smattering of coarse dark hair providing delicious friction. Eskel was pushing his own pecs together so as to offer a tight channel for Jaskier to fuck, and he moaned in unison. Jaskier always marvelled at how sensitive Eskel's most glorious attributes were. A gift of the gods, they were. 

"Don't squeeze so tight!" Jaskier gasped as Eskel flexed his pectorals, muscles rippling under and around Jaskier, an earthquake of heated skin and mind-blowing pleasure. "I'm going to spill if you keep this up."

After all this time, Jaskier really should have expected how easily Eskel could play him. He didn't, though, and Eskel's low, lazy voice as he squeezed even harder and spat over Jaskier's pink cockhead to provide more slick sent burning, white-hot pleasure spiralling in his gut. 

"You know I like you loose and relaxed when I sink into your tight hole. I'm only getting started with you tonight, songbird. "

Soon, white streaks coated the most glorious creations of all, and Jaskier didn't need to be asked twice to clean them with the reverence and adoration they were due. 

[jaskiersvalley]

Your writing is DEVASTATINGLY lovely, thank you for sharing it with us!

Catch me tearing up at this, Nonnie. You are far too lovely and kind. Have a little thank you ficlet which I hope you enjoy <3

If you haven’t played Witcher 3 or read the books, this will contain major spoilers about Ciri!

To say that Geralt wasn’t friendly could be taken as a bit of an understatement. Somehow Jaskier had either missed that memo or he straight up didn’t care, sticking around until he became part of Geralt’s everyday landscape. Then Ciri came along and Geralt stopped fighting destiny. They were in Kaedwen when another figure turned up at their camp, looking dishevelled and exhausted. Cahir had been running north, away from Nilfgaard and hoping to help protect Ciri. Not that Geralt was having any of it, he gruffly tried to warn off the interloper on their camp.

“It’s you!” Ciri exclaimed. “I see you in my dreams.”

Politely baffled, Cahir offered her a hesitant smile. “I only know you’re Emhyr's daughter and I firmly believe that under no circumstance should you fall into his hands."

Being everyone's friend, Jaskier struck up conversation with Cahir. However, Geralt couldn't help but feel like they were being fooled, given a sob story of someone who grew to resent the empire they led an army for. It was just too perfect, like something Jaskier would make up to sing a heart-warming song about to bring everyone together on a dreary night. Still, Geralt wasn't in the habit of being aggressive with humans if he could help it. But he could still make things unbearably awkward so they didn't stick around. That had always been the case (with Jaskier being the exception) so Geralt kept to his tried and tested method.

Nights were spent on the cold forest floor. While Geralt would meditate and keep guard, Jaskier curled up with Ciri under all the blankets they had in an attempt to keep warm. It was too risky to have a fire. Only, Cahir wasn't allowed to curl up with them, even as he passed over one of his own furs when he saw Ciri shivering. That night, Geralt watched as the rather strange human huddled against a tree, tucked under as many of his paltry belonging as possible to stay warm. Even more strangely, he slept as if he trusted Geralt to keep him safe for the night.

"How long will you travel with us?" Ciri asked innocently a few mornings later. She didn't seem to notice the way Cahir was flexing his hands to try and get some heat back into his fingers. Not that Geralt cared, he had seen the hand flop out from under a cloak as Cahir had turned in the night. It served him right, the fool that he was for thinking he could just travel with a Witcher and his family of choice and Destiny.

"I don't know," Cahir replied, the honesty raw in his voice.

Ciri didn't waste time, smiling at him as she declared, "You should come with us! Geralt said Kaer Morhen is big, so there will be room for you too."

Such simple, childish logic. Geralt wished Ciri hadn't opened her mouth though. Judging my the hesitant look Cahir was casting him, it was quite evident the invitation wasn't taken to heart. Until Jaskier joined in too.

"Yes, come with us! It will be nice to have another boring old human among the beefcakes of Kaer Morhen." He must have seen Cahir looking at Geralt because Jaskier scoffed out a laugh. "ignore his sour demeanour. He's just a grouch until he gets home."

The trek to Kaer Morhen was slow and several times Geralt wondered whether he could guide then in a way that meant he could keep Ciri on Roach, a hand on Jaskier and if, by some mishap, Cahir slipped, they could all say it was an accident. However, Geralt had a moral code that was better than that, as much as he cursed himself for it. But they made it to Kaer Morhen as a quartet. Introductions were made swiftly and Geralt showed everyone to rooms. Jaskier would share with him, Ciri would be near by. However, he led Cahir to a further part of the old keep and opened the door to room that was still functional but it was definitely not, by any definition, nice. To Geralt, the further Cahir was from him and his family, the better.

"This is your room."

He didn't expect the large eyed awe and gratitude.

"You sure? I thought you'd put me in a communal room."

There were no communal rooms but Geralt didn't want to say that. Instead, he shrugged. "This room is yours now."

It wasn't like it had much, a lumpy, straw filled mattress, a rickety chest of drawers and a fireplace. Not much more would fit in there really. Yet Cahir seemed almost overwhelmed by it.

Everything Geralt tried to do to make Cahir less eager to stick around seemed to backfire. The pass was still open and Geralt hoped Cahir would try to go back to his masters and perish along the way. One less threat to Ciri that way. However, Cahir eagerly took to kitchen duties, saying he wanted to earn his keep. He also willingly joined in with training, even sharing some of Nilfgaard's fighting styles and dirty tricks with the others.

All of Geralt's pushing had an interesting side effect. While Cahir tried to give him space while living up to expectations, he got closer to the other Witchers. Especially, Lambert and Eskel. However, like with most things not in his immediate interest, Geralt decided to stick his head in the sand about it. It didn't concern him so it wasn't his problem.

He was making his last rounds of the keep, something he didn't feel the need to do quite so often anymore. However, a soft, very human snuffle from the stall next to Roach had him suspicious. Silently peering into the stall, Geralt's eyebrows rose to see Cahir under his cloak, curled into some straw.

"Something wrong with your room?"

The words startled Cahir and he jerked, staring wide eyed at Geralt. There was straw stuck in his hair.

"Sorry. No. The room you gave me is very nice and really generous of you." That should have been an absolute lie but Cahir didn't seem to be anything but honest. So Geralt stayed quiet and allowed him to fill the awkwardly lengthening silence. "It was so quiet, I'm not used to it. The army is noisy, even when it sleeps. And I missed the stars. It's been years since I've spent more than a couple of nights indoors at a time."

Life on the road was something Geralt could understand. But it sounded like maybe Cahir had been without creature comforts for a lot longer than a Witcher. At least Geralt had a home to return to. With Nilfgaard's aggressive spread, he could easily imagine Cahir being at the forefront of that. That realisation didn't sit well with Geralt, it gnawed away at him for some reason. So he did the only thing he was capable of, he grunted and left.

However, the next day he mentioned the encounter to Eskel, hoping that he or Lambert would have a better solution. They did, but not the way Geralt had hoped. He was the one to much out the stables that week. Mostly confident that the others had sorted his little problem, Geralt didn't think much of the noise he was making. At least, not until he walked past what should have been an empty stall. Twin sets of amber eyes glared at him from within. More straw had been piled into the stall, a few more throws and furs brought in too and Cahir was nestled between two Witchers, sleeping more soundly than Geralt had seen him before.

That should have been the worst of it but, that night, Geralt found his partner missing from their shared bed. Assuming Jaskier was singing to Ciri, he crept closer, puzzled by the silence. Her room was empty too. There weren't many places they could have gone, so Geralt headed down to the kitchen, determinedly not panicking. A Witcher didn't panic, especially not in his own home. He only encountered Vesemir who looked over him once.

"Ah, you're here. Take this to the others." Geralt was handed a tray of six steaming mugs. Vesemir was holding a seventh. At the hesitation in Geralt's posture, he rolled his eyes. "Take that to the stables."

Something akin to dread curled in Geralt's chest as he approached the stables. He hadn't been good to Cahir, so he wasn't likely to be welcomed into the group. So he'd just put the tray down and make a hasty retreat.

"Drinks!" Jaskier declared with a cheer and the others in the stall all seemed to brighten too. It looked quite cosy in an odd way. Ciri was between Jaskier and Eskel but she wormed her way out to grab a drink, eyes closed as the steam wafted over her face.

"You have the best ideas, thanks," she declared.

One by one, Geralt handed out the drinks until one more was left on the tray. Everyone stared at him until Cahir took pity.

"We have room for one more if you'd like to join."

Hesitant, Geralt settled down and let out an "oof" as Jaskier snuggled in on one side and Ciri vigorously claimed his other. It was nice, a little odd but not as alienating as Geralt had feared. Though Cahir's words had been a little bit of a lie, as Geralt found out the following year. There wasn't room for just one more. Because, against all odds, they managed to somehow squeeze in a Cat Witcher that Lambert had dragged home too.

[samstree]

You are too well tangled in my soul (4/5)

In which Geralt tries to apologize, Jaskier has some unexpected encounters and Roach is the best.

(love confession, kaer morhen, 6.1k, no warnings)

read on AO3.

War breaks out.

Nilfgaard mercilessly scorches the continent, and Jaskier survives. The next time he sees Geralt, there’s a lost princess in tow.

The girl has pale blonde hair, just as Jaskier remembers from when he performed at her birthdays. Her green eyes are big and wary, staring at the bard from behind Geralt’s armored bulk.

Jaskier wouldn’t blame her, from what he learned from his encounters with Nilfgaard the girl must have been through hell. And from what he heard about Cintra, well, she has more demons to run from other than the evil army. She looks exhausted too, hair dirty and eyes alert, studying Jaskier intensely.

“You were at my birthday. You sang the songs.” The princess’s crisp voice breaks the silence.

“Yes, Princess Cirilla. I was at three of your birthdays, though you were too young to remember the first two.” he bows. “Jaskier the bard, at your service.”

She softens, nodding at Jaskier’s gesture. Her lips tug upward.

“Just Ciri.”

“Ciri, then.” Jaskier smiles at her.

“I loved your singing. It was beautiful.” she bites her lips, pausing, before putting her arm around the witcher’s. “Geralt only said we were looking for a friend. I didn’t know it was you.”

The mention of the name snaps Jaskier’s attention back to the witcher, who remains motionless and silent. This entire time, Geralt has been staring at Jaskier’s face, like he could blink and the bard would disappear. Jaskier stares back, and the bruise in his chest throbs anew.

“A friend, uh?” he feigns nonchalance and fails, suddenly his throat feeling dry. “Now you use the word, after all these years. Thought you’d keep insisting on not being my friend until the end of time. Thought I gave you life’s blessing –”

“Jaskier,” Geralt exhales. The word is barely a whisper, but it’s enough to stop the bard from landing a blow. The witcher doesn’t seem to have more words, despite continuing to look at Jaskier with remorseful sorrow.

Good. The pettiest part of Jaskier thrills at his regret, after all he’s the one who spewed all the venom on top of that mountain.

But one look at Geralt, Jaskier realized that he is just as tired and disheveled as the girl, if not more so. Being on the run from Nilfgaard is no fun, he learned that from personal experience.

Knowing Geralt, he is going to neglect his needs in favor of Ciri’s, gritting his teeth through everything. Jaskier finds himself searching all over him for injuries, familiar worry bubbling of its own volition.

Jaskier cannot even stay mad at him for long. Damn him.

“Why are you looking for me then?” he asks.

“I –” Geralt pauses. “Nilfgaard is looking for us. Hunting us. They want something, and they are willing to raise armies to chase us across the Continent.”

He tightens his hold on Ciri. The young princess looks away with a haunted expression.

“And they are also trying to hunt down whoever might know your location. They’ll torture them for the information.” Jaskier adds. His two near escapes are too vivid in his mind. The first time he only got away by the skin of his teeth. It turns out he’s not so bad with a dagger when faced with two Nilfgaardian footsoldiers.

As for the second time, he may have had help from an old friend. Not that Yennefer would be thrilled if he ever called her that. The story of his life, he thinks, it seems to be.

Realization dawns in Geralt’s eyes. “You already know they are looking for you. Are you – did they get to you, Jaskier?”

“Get to me? No,” Jaskier chuckles tightly. “I wouldn’t be standing here, would I? Your secrets are safe, Geralt. Not that I knew your whereabouts for the past year. They didn’t get anything from me, if that’s your worry.”

“No. Fuck –” Geralt curses under his breath, frustrated. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Jaskier challenges him, raising an eyebrow. Geralt struggles for words and starts to look like his usual brooding self again. It is Ciri who speaks up.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with us. It’s the safest place on the Continent,” the girl says.

Jaskier breathes, stunned. Of course, it makes sense for them to go. It is a home for Geralt. He remembers the first time Geralt told him about the witcher keep, in that greenhouse, a lifetime ago. To him, it is as much of a myth now as it was back then.

“You are sweet, Ciri. But I don’t think Geralt would want that.”

There’s a bitter tang in those words. Ciri scrunches up her brows, confused. “But he’s the one who wanted –”

“What Ciri meant,” Geralt interrupts, “was that Nilfgaard is still out there looking for us. When they can’t, they’ll come for you again.” Desperation bleeds into his tone. Or is it annoyance? “Come with us, Jask. You’ll be safe in Kaer Morhen.”

“I can take care of myself.” Jaskier’s resolution is swaying despite his pride.

“Jaskier…”

“Geralt.” He stays emotionless, waiting for the Witcher’s reasoning, but it doesn’t come.

It is the lost Cintran princess who decides for Jaskier.

“Can you just come with us?” her voice is uncertain, and it tugs at Jaskier’s heart. “Please?”

Jaskier looks into her green eyes and only sees the loss she endured. The fall of Cintra reached Jaskier like a punch in the gut. He thought Geralt’s Child Surprise – the bright-eyed little girl who danced to his songs – was lost with it, so when those soldiers started questioning him about her escape, Jaskier only felt relief. Now, the lone wolf stands protectively next to the lost lion cub.

Jaskier is glad Geralt went to find her, truly.

He finds himself nodding, and Ciri brightens up ever so slightly.

  “So, you are the boy?”

The dark-haired witcher says upon meeting Jaskier for the first time at the gate of Kaer Morhen when Geralt and Ciri have gone to stable the horse. He’s the same height and build as Geralt, only his shoulders are just a bit wider. Unlike Geralt, his hair is a muddy brown, and three nasty scars run down the right side of his cheek, making him look almost grotesque.

“Pardon?”

“The boy Geralt kept seeing.” His eyes fix on Jaskier with amusement, the golden color eerily identical to Geralt’s.

“Oh, I didn’t know anyone else –” Jaskier is rather surprised that another witcher knows about Geralt’s condition. “Yes, that’s me. But I’m hardly a boy anymore.” He extends a hand. “Jaskier.”

“Eskel.” The Witcher takes it with a friendly smile. Huh, not all of them are broody and rude.

“So you know about our…” Jaskier trails off for lack of a descriptor. Their bond? Their relationship? They certainly are not in one.

“Not much. If you’ve known my brother for this long, you’d know how little he talks.” Eskel offers an understanding pat on Jaskier’s back. “He just came back here one year and couldn’t shut up about an annoying bard. Then he came back another year. Disappeared in the middle of the day, and scared the shit out of us. We’d thought he was cursed out of existence by some angry mage. When he came back, out of thin air too, he looked like he’d seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost.”

“Not a ghost, only the same bard. As a boy.”

It makes sense, according to however little they know about the mechanism of it. Wintering at the witcher keep is the longest Geralt is away from the bard, so destiny has to drag him to Lettenhove. It would be hard to sail away from your anchor.

“Guess I’m too much of a nuisance. He can’t escape me even here, in his own home.”

“He never –” Eskel seems surprised at Jaskier’s remark. “I might need to have words with my brother, bard. And he was only upset because he worried for your safety.”

He smiles tightly. “It’s kind of you to say, Eskel. Though you don’t need to protect my feelings. I understand now. I would take myself off of his hands if I could.”

Too bad he can’t. Even if the invasion blows over, destiny would still work against Geralt’s attempt at free will at every opportunity.

He ignores Eskel’s inquisitive eyes as they stroll into the stone castle when Geralt and Ciri rejoin them.

  Geralt is trying to apologize.

He knows by the way Geralt follows him outside, and onto the trail behind the keep, somehow with guilt written all over his posture. It’s a nice place for a walk and for Jaskier to clear his head and compose under the pine trees.

Geralt has tried several times in the past few days. Every time they are left alone, the witcher assumes an expectant look on his face and begins to find words. Every time Jaskier interrupts him before it starts, making up whatever poor excuses he can find. Every time Geralt swallows and lets him go. He puts on a stoic face but Jaskier always sees the disappointed droop in those amber eyes that anyone else would have missed.

Jaskier can’t avoid it anymore, between the fresh smell of pine – his favorite scent in the world – and the sky, there’s nowhere to hide, so he stops to face it.

“Just say whatever you want to say,” he lets out a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt blurts out without a beat. “I never should have said what I said. I didn’t mean any of it, Jask. I was upset and I took it out on you. It wasn’t fair.”

Jaskier blinks.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“You’ve followed me for twenty years. You’ve known me for even longer. Fuck, Jaskier. Your whole life, you’ve known me, and yet you chose to stay.”

“I did,” he whispers, “but you tried to push me away, like everything else destiny forced upon you.”

The hurt in those golden eyes is unbearable to watch, so Jaskier averts the burn of his gaze to take a deep breath. The smell of pine fills his lungs, crisp and soothing.

“It was a mistake. I know that now, Jaskier.” The contrite is unmistakable. Geralt’s gravelly voice is as pained as Jaskier feels. From the corner of his eyes, Jaskier notices Geralt reach into his pocket for something. It is a small notebook, leather-bound and abused at the edges.

It’s his notebook.

It’s their notebook.

“I’ve kept records of everything, just like you did.” he holds out the book for Jaskier to take. “I’ve seen the future, you –”

“No!” Jaskier steps away as if the book might burn him. “You can’t use it against me, Geralt. You think I’ve never seen the future? I know where we are going. I know I’ll still choose you, because how can I not?” his voice breaks at the possibility of him leaving Geralt by choice. “But it doesn’t make it alright. I can’t just forgive you and pretend we are fine, just because the future says we should be.”

Geralt lowers his hand and the book with it. “I meant that…I understand you now. Why you would stand by me when no one else does, when it’s so much easier to just leave.”

“And how exactly did you arrive at this grand revelation?”

Geralt softens, his lips quick upward ever so slightly. “I saw you. In a little cottage by the sea, years from now, happy.”

Jaskier’s breath hitches. He’s so used to knowing all different versions of Geralt, so used to having the upper hand in this little dance, that the idea of his own future laid out like this makes him queasy.

“You told me – or will tell me, rather – why you spent your entire life choosing me when I’ve done nothing but push you away.” Geralt’s voice breaks at the obvious regret in it.

Because I love you, Jaskier thinks. I’ve loved you for too long.

He’s become so familiar with the notion it’s as easy as breathing.

“What do you want, then?”

“A chance. To prove myself again,” Geralt pleads. “To prove myself a worthy companion to you. Because you are my friend, my best friend. You have been since you were so young and I was just blind to it. Jaskier, I –”

I love you.

“– I choose you too. If you’ll let me show you. For the rest of my life, I’ll prove it to you every day, because I –”

I love you.

“– I love you.”

The words come out soft and reverent, the whisper so careful as if to avoid the birds overhearing him. Geralt stills after the confession, his eyes fixed on Jaskier in earnest.

For a moment Jaskier believes the declaration an echo of his imagination, conjured up from years of longing and heartbreak. But when he holds his breath and looks into Geralt’s resolved eyes, the truth washes over him like a cool shower on an autumn morning.

Deep in those ember eyes is the same affection he’s seen many times, during those too-short visits from his older Geralt, in the teasing smirks he carried at the corner of his mouth, or in the sweetness hidden behind his kiss, under a cold Cintran sky and addled by too much ale. It’s in the way Geralt takes him apart with deft fingers and gentle touches, over and over again throughout the years.

It’s the same love that propelled Geralt to ask for his trust and his faith when this moment comes.

“You love me.” Jaskier muses.

“I do. I have… for a while now.” Geralt’s breath forms in the crisp mountain air. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way, Jask. But please believe me when I say it. I love you. It’s the truest feeling I’ve ever felt in my life. Without any djinn magic, or destiny deciding what’s best. Please, at least have this much faith in me.”

After all this time Geralt still thinks it’s possible for Jaskier to not love him back.

I’m going to make mistakes, the older Geralt once said, don’t lose faith in me.

He made a promise after all.

“Okay,” Jaskeir exhales.

“Okay?”

When he looks into the amber glow again Geralt looks expectant.

“Okay,” Jaskier repeats, “You have it. A chance for us to try again, if you want it to go back to… before.”

Geralt exhales like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. “It won’t be like before. I’ll do better, I give you my word.”

The sincerity is palpable in Geralt’s expression. The words come out so solemn and he’s clenched his jaw tightly. It looks like he just might break something if Jaskier doesn’t give him an out.

A smiles tugs at the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. And they say he’s the dramatic one.

“Oh, relax, you big oaf, before you hurt yourself. Of course I believe in you. It might be the most words I’ve ever heard from you. Didn’t think it was possible.”

He pats Geralt on the arm, before resting his hand there and squeezes. If Geralt leans into the touch, he doesn’t mention it.

“You,” Jaskeir continues, “You are forgiven, Geralt. I’ve always known I’d forgive you. You are not the only one who’s seen the future. Even if fate didn’t tell me to, I would still know you to be the best man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I would choose to stay by your side every time.”

The shuddering breath that chokes out Geralt’s throat is almost like a sob. Rumors say witchers can’t cry, but Jaskier learned it not to be true long ago, and he can see how much Geralt is affected right now.

He reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Geralt’s ear before resting his hand on the spill of silver on his shoulder, and revels in the familiar feeling of silky hair against his palm.

“As for the other thing.” Jaskier thinks back on Geralt’s heartfelt confession, not sure if he has truly wrapped his head around it. “I think… I’ll need some time before we can do something about it.”

Geralt nods, his warm hand coming up to capture Jaskier’s wrist in a loose grip, the pad of his thumb stroking slightly again. Jaskier’s chest warms at the motion.

“Take all the time you need, Jask. I’ll be right here.”

  They spend the winter in the keep, in this safe bubble they created.

Ciri’s progress is obvious even to Jaskier’s untrained eyes. Her stance becomes more confident every day, her moves faster. The clanking of blunt swords echoes above the training ground as Jaskier watches from a bench in the corner, plucking his lute absent-mindedly.

The lion cub is starting to look like her grandmother, with her hair tied back and the sword cutting through the air with force.

The rise in confidence is doing her wonders. Her smile is becoming more often as winter settles in. The first time Ciri laughed out loud at the usual tomfoolery Lambert starts at dinner table, all four witchers and Jaskier stopped to stare at her for a brief moment before joining in.

Later that night, Geralt got emotional when it was just him and Jaskier, cleaning up in the kitchen.

“It’s just… it’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh.” Geralt’s throat bobbles when he says, and Jaskier’s heart breaks for them both, so he takes the plates from the Witcher’s hands and pulls him in for a hug, one that’s a little too tight.

In the courtyard, flurries of snow fall steadily as Ciri disarms Geralt with a twist of her wrist, the heavier sword flying off to the side. She squeaks in excitement.

“Take that, old man!”

Geralt goes to collect his blunt weapon, his chuckle rumbling deep in his chest. “You only did it because I let you, Ciri. Your enemies are not gonna let you disarm them for practice.”

Her pride morphs into a slight pout before it’s tucked away by her regal stance. They’ll make a warrior princess out of her after all.

“You just can’t let me have this one, can you?”

“Yeah, old man,” Jaskier chimes in. “Just admit your loss. I’m sure the White Wolf should know when he’s beaten.”

From Geralt’s glare, Jaskier knows he’s enjoying this too much, but he just can’t get the proud grin off of his face. Ciri sends him a smug smile when she puts away her weapon and gears.

From a distance, Lambert and Eskel are sheathing their training swords as well when Jaskier notices the snow falling harder by the minute, sending a shiver through his body despite the heavy coat wrapped around him. Ugh, his fingers are numb now.

“All right?” Geralt is all packed up, cheeks flushed from the exercise. He’s only wearing a simple tunic and yet it looks like the cold does not affect him at all. Ridiculous witcher biology.

Mischief lights up in Jaskier’s mind when he puts down the lute and walks towards Geralt, before putting his freezing palms flush against the Witcher’s neck.

“Jaskier, what – Fuck!”

He expects Geralt’s usual grunts and retaliation at the blatant offense. Roughhousing has never been a stranger to them, especially now that they are at ease in their friendship again.

What he does not expect is the concern that appears in Geralt’s eyes after a moment of shock and the warm hands that gently cover his.

“Oh Jask, you are freezing.” Geralt’s brows furrow in seriousness, calloused fingers starting to rub the back of Jaskier’s hands in a slow rhythm. Now that he notices, the heat radiating off of Geralt’s skin is lovely, tingling the numbness in his rigid hands and sending a different kind of shiver down his spine. “Gods, you might get frostbite like this. Don’t you have gloves?”

“Er – that’s not…” Jaskier stammers, suddenly aware of their closeness and the lack of everyone else on the training ground. Thank fuck they’ve all gone inside before his foolish prank. “I – I lost them…?”

Now Jaskier is the one blushing, but Geralt pays no mind to his embarrassment and continues to rub heat back into his exposed skin.

“I’ll make you new ones then. Can’t let a lutist lose his fingers,” Geralt murmurs.

The urge to kiss this sweet man is overwhelming, Jaskier has to look away from the beautiful golden yellow to calm his fluttering heart. It’d be too soon. He’s still raw from what went down in the past year.

Thankfully Ciri calls for them to get inside before they freeze over. Jaskier pulls away to answer her, immediately feeling empty without the warm touch. Now he’ll settle for walking to the great hall where a hearth is lit with Geralt by his side.

A week later, Jaskier finds a pair of newly knitted gloves on his bed. They are made with Geralt’s favorite wool – a thick, soft material – and fingerless so he can play. When he slips them on, the urge to track Geralt down in the keep and kiss him all over fills him again.

  Roach bites down on the second apple Jaskier offers her and munches gracelessly.

Jaskier pats her mane while she tries to chew off the fringe on his doublet. Now that he’s reunited with her master, Jaskier can spoil the mare as much as he wants. Not that anyone objected before. The mare clearly has a soft spot for the bard, Geralt is just too stubborn to admit it.

He is just saying goodbye to Roach when the familiar swoosh of magic startles him.

Destiny’s pull rarely works when they are together, so much so that Jaskier has almost forgotten about it for the months he’s within Kaer Morhen’s walls. On top of that, what greets him is not the bulk of a witcher.

Standing by the stalls is a scared little boy.

Jaskier is terrible with guessing children’s age, but this boy is definitely no more than six or seven, wearing plain summer clothes and holding a small bucket for dear life. The boy has a head full of dark curly hair and tears streaking down his cheeks. His brown eyes are wide and full of terror.

“Ma? Where are you?” he calls out, voice horse from crying.

Jaskier is stuck where he stands, too shocked to react. Somewhere next to him, Roach snorts nervously at the volume of the child’s cry.

Geralt once told him how he ended up in Vesemir’s care, when both of them had too much to drink on the eve of Belleteyn many years ago. They only meant to celebrate a hunt well done and Jaskier’s successful performance at the festival, but the drinks kept coming on the courtesy of the pub owner. Before Jaskier knew it, the Witcher was too gone and started to get melancholic in his inebriation.

For once in their lives, Jaskier was the one with some sanity left and promptly put Geralt back to their shared bed.

With the sound of people singing and dancing around bonfires in the distance, Geralt curled into himself, looking uncharacteristically small, and told Jaskier the last time he saw his mother.

“I stood there for so long, by the road. But she was gone,” Geralt slurred the words. “I kept waiting for her…”

Those words, combined with too much ale, broke Jaskier into a million pieces.

“It was so long ago. I don’t even remember what she looks like, the color of her eyes. Or my eyes, before…What was the color of my eyes?”

Jaskier had no answer.

That night, he listened as Geralt drifted off, thinking the witcher would forget about the confession come morning. Or was it Geralt who thought Jaskier never remembered? No matter what reason, Geralt never talked about it again and Jaskier respected that.

And here Geralt is, no more than seven, on what is probably the worst day of his life – having just been abandoned by his mother by the side of the road. He looks confused and cried-out, still clinging to the bucket so hard that his tiny knuckles are turning white.

His eyes are brown.

That’s all Jaskier can think.

The boy’s tears keep falling, and whatever heartbreak Jaskier felt on the night of Belleteyn, it’s not a match for now.

“Hey, it’s all right,” Jaskier shushes as gently as possible. He lowers himself in front of the boy, keeping the movement slow just to not upset him further. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Where is my ma?” young Geralt sniffles, and Jaskier doesn’t know how to answer that. The layers he’s wearing clearly cannot hold out the cold in the dead of winter. The boy is shivering.

“I’m sorry I don’t know where she is. But, here, put this on.” Jaskier shrugs off his coat and wraps it around the boy’s small frame, half of it pooling on the ground. He tries to coax the bucket out of the boy’s hands but he grips tighter.

“Where is she? Where did you take me?” the boy demands in panic.

“I promise I haven’t taken you anywhere, okay? Ger –” Jaskier catches himself. He’s a complete stranger to the child. He shouldn’t know him. “It’s too cold out here. We can go inside and wait for her there. Is that all right?”

The boy shakes his head. “Ma’s coming back to find me. I need to stay.”

“Okay, okay.” Jaskier tries not to panic, but he feels so helpless. He doesn’t even know where to put his hands so he tightens the coat around the boy’s shoulders. “How about this, I’ll find some help for us. Maybe someone from that castle can help. I don’t even know what would happen if they see you like this but…what other option do we have, eh?”

Before he can even get up, Jaskier finds the boy dropping the bucket and clinging to the sleeve of his doublet, the water spilling everywhere.

“No, don’t leave,” the boy says weakly, “Please.”

The boy’s chubby cheeks are streaked with tears, turning red in the mountain air. Jaskier wipes the wetness away with the pad of his thumb, his other arm still in the boy’s grip.

“All right. I won’t leave then, I promise.” Jaskier does his best to smile reassuringly. The ache in his chest makes it difficult but against all odds, it works. The young boy calms down just a little.

“I’ll stay with you, all right? But for now… do you want to make some new friends?”

Jaskier introduces the child to Roach, and he gets less afraid as soon as he sees the horse and reaches out to pet her. With their ridiculous height difference, it looks almost comical. The mare, ever the sweetheart, lowers her head as if she senses something familiar in the boy. She nuzzles his little hand and his eyes light up.

No matter how young, it seems Geralt will always enjoy Roach’s company above anyone else’s. Jaskier watches in wonder at the exchange before him. The boy’s distress dissipates gradually as the mare licks him and showers him in affection.

“Can I keep her?” the child giggles as Roach chews on his hair.

Jaskier smiles, “Sadly no, but maybe you’ll see her again. Who knows.”

All his life, Jaskier has known Geralt as the powerful witcher, his friend and protector. But right here, he’s just another ordinary child who loves giant animals. Only his future holds something no child should ever have to endure.

Jaskier wishes life wouldn’t have to burden this gentle boy, harden him into the warrior that he is now. This moment could last forever for all he cares, so this young boy wouldn’t need to go back to face the path ahead.

He doesn’t know how long they have here, undisturbed by the four witchers inside the keep, or the magic pulling them apart.

“Can I tell you something?” Jaskier says as the child runs his fingers through Roach’s mane. He turns around to look at the bard curiously with his beautiful brown eyes. “Do you know you’re a very good boy? And when you grow up, you’ll become a very good person.”

“Ma says I should do good.”

“She’s right.”

“And doing good is hard… sometimes.”

Jaskier swallows the lump in his throat. “That too. Life is difficult, unfair even. But you are strong, stronger than you’ll ever believe. Remember this, and you’ll find a way.”

“I’m strong?” the boy looks at Jaskier expectantly. His tiny frame is drowned in Jaskier’s coat.

“The strongest.” the bard nods.

“Like a knight?”

“Better than a knight.”

The smile that lights up the boy’s rosy cheeks is the most wonderful thing Jaskier has ever seen, better than the northern lights on these mountains. But their moment seems to have come to an end.

The swoosh of magic Jaskier knows by heart brushes by his ear, and Roach suddenly brays anxiously in her stall.

“I feel weird.” The panic returns to the boy’s voice.

“It’s okay. It means we have to say goodbye.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Never.”

“But why do we have to say goodbye?” his tiny voice gets tight and scared once more. Jaskier shushes him gently.

“Because we’ll see each other again.”

“And horsie too?”

“Her too.” Jaskier nods solemnly.

The boy waves nervously at Jaskier, and then the mare. His big brown eyes bore into Jaskier’s with hope and trust, a trust that will be returned decades from now, for him at least.

“Goodbye.”

Once again, Jaskier is left alone. Snow falls silently in the courtyard like it has been for days.

  The rest of the day passes in a blur. Jaskier goes through dinner without a word, no matter how the four witchers try to engage with him.

Eskel is his usual self, nice and respectful, not prodding after noticing Jaskier in a weird mood. It’s something Lambert physically cannot do, because he constantly asks Jaskier what is wrong, trying to get a response out of him.

“You smell miserable, buttercup, like you are about to pass out.”

Jaskier imagines the tight smile he offers is not the most convincing, since everyone only gets more concerned. Ciri puts her hand on his arm as a silent question, and when she can’t get an answer she starts brooding just like Geralt.

Jaskier would laugh at their likeness if not for his mind racing so fast.

Geralt must have noticed the moment he came back from the stables. He has not let Jaskier out of his sight since, his worry silent but not pushing. After dinner, Jaskier can still feel the weighted gaze on his back, following him all the way back to the bedroom.

He leads Geralt into his room at the end of the hallway and shuts the door. With a soft click of the door, Jaskier turns to throw himself at the witcher with a force that would have knocked over any other man, but Geralt only catches his momentum, solid and steady. He buries his nose into Geralt’s shoulder and lets the familiar smell of pine and soap fill his senses.

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice rumbles out of his chest, deep and patient. “You know, Lambert was right. You smell so…sad.”

“I made you a promise.” Jaskier’s voice is muffled by Geralt’s shoulder.

“What?”

“I made you a promise. Years ago for me, and years from now for you. To always have faith in you, even when you make mistakes.” Jaskier extracts his limbs and looks into the confusion in the flowing amber. He presses their lips together, sweet and lingering, like they have all the time in the world. The kiss tastes like the lost years between them, all the laughter and heartaches, the lust and yearning, and the dust and smoke from war. He pulls away.

The last time he kissed Geralt, it was by the side of a road, full of rage and hurt. This time, it’s hope that rises like a winter sun, cozy but not sweltering.

“This is me keeping that promise.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt swallows, composing himself, “You know I won’t hold it against you. It’s not fair for you to be pressured into this just for something I haven’t asked of you yet. I meant it when I said you can take all the time you need, because I did fuck up, and I’m so –”

“Don’t apologize again,” Jaskier interrupts, “I know how sorry you feel, how you’ll still feel even years from now. Just – don’t.”

He presses his forehead to Geralt’s and they breathe in tandem. Maybe he’s still affected by the memory of Geralt as a child, scared and alone, unaware of the hurt he’s about to receive. The trials, growing up away from home, training to become a weapon, the glares people cast at him. Jaskier shudders to think, desperately needing to shield his witcher from the world, but he was powerless in the stable this afternoon. He is not powerless now.

“How about a promise you did hear from me?” he asks.

Geralt frowns in confusion, waiting for him to explain, so Jaskier cups Geralt’s jaw to study him again, his thumb resting exactly where he wiped tears off of the boy hours ago.

“They were brown.”

The confusion in the amber eyes only grows.

“Your eyes, before the trials. They used to be brown.”

Geralt still looks at him incredulously. When it comes out like that, Jaskier probably sounds crazy.

“Your mother left you by the side of the road. She told you to get water, and when you got back she was gone,” he swallows, “You waited, holding a bucket of water. You waited until you went somewhere else. Somewhere cold, there’s a horse and snow and –”

“Oh.”

Realization dawns on Geralt like a lightning strike. He stares at Jaskier in disbelief.

“All these years –” he whispers, “How is it possible? I thought it was a dream. Vesemir told me it was a dream, that I was in so much shock that I conjured it up in my mind. A horse in the snow, chestnut brown, and…”

“And me,” Jaskier almost chokes out, “It wasn’t a dream.”

Geralt looks pained. All this talk about that day must be dredging up terrible memories and Jaskier never wants to hurt him on top of that.

“Do you remember what I said before you went back?”

To which Geralt chuckles tightly.

“That whole day was a bit hazy in my memory, Jask. Vesemir was right in that I was in shock. And I’ve tried so hard to forget about that day, to bury it so I don’t have to think about it.” he holds on to Jaskier, studying him in a new light. “I just remember that you made me feel so warm, Jask. You were the only good thing on the worst day of my life.”

The ache in Jaskier’s chest lessens somehow at those words. For whatever reason destiny decided to weave their fates together, he’s grateful for it just for that moment’s solace alone.

“You knew you were leaving.”

“I did. Now that I know, it was the first time I ever got pulled through time. To you.”

“I did promise we would see each other again.” Jaskier smiles.

Geralt pauses for a moment. Gradually, the golden yellow lights up like the most beautiful constellation in the night sky.

“You promised to never leave me.”

This time when their lips come together, it’s quiet and natural, like a piece of puzzle falling into place. Jaskier backs Geralt towards the bed, and they almost fall over onto the mattress, breaking the contact.

Geralt chases him with heated fervor, to which Jaskier gladly returns with a soft moan. He’s missed his witcher after all. Any space separating them at this moment needs to be closed like it personally offends him.

Tomorrow morning, Jaskier will wake Geralt with fingers through his hair and lips pressed to his forehead. Tomorrow Jaskier will tell him how much he loves him, over and over again. It won’t be the first time Jaskier has uttered the words, but it will be the first affirmation Geralt receives. Tomorrow Geralt will crinkle his eyes and return the words sleepily while dragging Jaskier back under the covers.

Tomorrow they’ll start a new chapter, together.

For now, they fall into each other under the night sky of the Blue Mountains, in a small room with a roaring fire burning in the hearth, tucked away from war and heartbreak.

[keirametzbrassknuckles]

Geralt/Eskel 25?

25 “Hey Wait you’re still bleeding!” Geralt/Eskel

Thank you for the ask my darling! Hope you enjoy.

Eskel has a sword strapped across his back; nearly comically large against his small willowy frame. They’d left with the lightest amount of gear they could - the bare minimum to keep them alive on the journey from Kaedwen to literally anywhere else. He’s full of hope, then, Eskel’s hand warm and strong in his, the world wide open before them. They’re free of Kaer Morhen, free of that place of pain and horror, free to do whatever they like now, to live for themselves. The idea is heady, has him laughing with the giddiness of it. The sun is barely rising; a bright gash of bloody red just beginning to tear open along the darkness of the sky over the mountains. They’re ten years old, drunk on possibility and Geralt feels as though his heels have wings as though he could leap into the wind and fly. 

They’re caught in the meadow a mile beyond the walls, hand in hand, running as though their life depends on it. 

Because it does. 

Because everything does. 

He hears the shockwave before he feels it; his inner ear registering the tumble through the air even before his head hits the dirt. The blow rings in his skull, rattles his teeth. He tastes dirt, his own blood. 

"Well well" Rennes says from atop his bay stallion "thought you'd make a run for it did you?" 

Eskel scrambles to his feet, bleeding from his nose. Behind Rennes Geralt can make out Vesemir on his dapple grey mare, the disappointed and half sympathetic curl of his mouth. He knows what's coming. He fears for them.

“It was my idea” Eskel says, stepping forward to shield Geralt from the witchers’ gaze “I convinced him to run. I made him run”

Geralt wants to contest it, wants to speak up and say that it was him who convinced Eskel, who had planted the idea of another life in his mind. But his mouth won’t work, his limbs leadden, something like cowardice overtaking him.

They’re brought back to the Keep. Tied hand and foot and nearly dragged behind the horses. Through the meadow, through the forest, back into the middle of the courtyard. Back to the hell on earth they call their home. 

Eskel is taken to Rennes’ office. To that bloodsoaked rug where generations of boys have been beaten half to death beneath  the head Wolf’s belt. Geralt is taken to the dormitory where he is left alone to await his own sentencing. 

He curls up beneath the scratchy covers, trying to stem the flow of tears even as he listens to Eskel crying out in pain in the hall below, to the metronomic crack of the whip. There's a break in the beating, the horrible sound of Eskel being revived with stimulants - a gasping croak back to consciousness - before the beating begins again.

He stares into the darkness with burning eyes, wetness spreading against his pillow even as he tries to keep his eyes open, tries to keep himself awake so he can stay present, so he can live out this punishment alongside Eskel. Because it’s what he deserves. 

He’s startled awake by the sound of the door opening, the growing crack of light across the stone floor. In the dark, twenty other boys sleep soundly. 

Eskel stumbles in, wanders towards his bunk, wide-eyed gaze far away, still locked inside the torture chamber that has been created inside his own mind, that will live there forever. They've dressed him again and his thin linen shirt is soaking through at the back with blood, black and shiny in the darkness of the room.

“Hey, wait you’re still bleeding!”

He scrambles upright, nearly leaping across the room to get to Eskel, barely getting there to catch the other boy before he falls. Eskel whimpers against him, clings to his shoulders even as Geralt’s nose fills with the horrible smell of flowing blood - coppery and rich. 

“It’s alright” He says, cradling Eskel against his chest, blood seeping between his fingers, over his arms that are still too short to reach all the way around his best friend “You’ll be okay” 

He bundles the other into bed, curls around him as gently as he can, rests his head against his neck and  cries. For the life they’d lost, for the horror they live now, for the idea that someday Eskel will be taken from him. 

They never try to run again. 

They never even think about it. 

--------

In the dark he brushes his lips over the pale lines of scar tissue. They’re faded now, with time and layered over with other scars, nearly invisible beneath the cross hatching; but Geralt would know them anywhere, can trace them even in the near-impenetrable dark. 

Beneath him Eskel makes a questioning noise, amber eyes blinking open from where he’d been dozing in the aftermath of a particularly athletic round of lovemaking . 

“W’s’t?” 

“Nothing” he says, resting his forehead between the wings of Eskel’s shoulder blades, just to listen to the echo of the metronomic beat of his heart. Beyond the walls the winter wind howls.

“Reminiscing? ‘S dangerous to do that” 

Geralt knows. He knows the twisted path of memory, the endless sucking darkness that one inevitably encounters when one looks too far back; so easy to get lost in, so difficult to return from. But he’s here now, here with Eskel. They’re curled up safe in their bed in Kaer Morhen with nearly sixty years between them and those dark blood-stained memories of their childhood - between them and when they’d last tried to be anyone else. 

“You know that I… that I … I” The words catch in his throat, like so many do these days after his second set of Grasses, his heart knowing the feelings but his mouth unwilling to put them into words. 

Luckily Eskel knows him. Has known him before the first Grasses which they barely survived. Has known him after the second when he didn’t talk for months - too afraid of his newly sharpened teeth and bone-white hair. Eskel who knew him after the sacking, after Blaviken, after Ciri. Eskel who knows him now.

“I know” Eskel rumbles, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him back down onto the mattress, curling round his back and holding him close “Sleep, Wolf. I know”

[gaeilgeoirgay]

I’ve decided to start crossposting some of my one shots here sooo here’s “Hour Of Peace”. It’s set in @inexplicifics Accidental Warlord AU :)

Summary: Aleksander of Velen releases Aren and the Witchers of the Manticore School welcome him home

Ao3 Link 

Onto the fic! 

Merten wakes to a loud banging on the door to the room he shares with Leocadie. Beside him, his spouse wakes too, and Merten calls for whoever it is to enter. It’s Zenon, the eldest of the Manticore trainees.

“Sir, sorry for disturbing you but the White Wolf has ordered that the School Heads must gather. According to Jaskier, your presence is especially needed, Master Merten.” Zenon reports and Merten nods, already leaping from bed. “Thanks, lad. Get the Manticubs together for training- you’re in charge until I tell you otherwise.” He orders and Zenon nods.

He leaves to go rouse the trainees and Merten turns to Leocadie, who had watched the exchange languidly. “Right then, my love, I had better see what’s going on. Come with me?” Merten asks and Leocadie rises to stand in front of him. They nudge at Merten’s throat and Merten bares his neck to let Leocadie breathe in his scent. They do it every morning, as a reminder that although the two of them have outlived most of their cubs, they still have each other.

They dress swiftly, armour strapped on and swords sheathed. Merten has a feeling that the meeting will be about their conquering of Redania, and he would prefer to be armed and ready. Leocadie joins him as they stride to the White Wolf’s meeting room.

The Wolf is there, along with his lovers and a few of the School leaders. Merten takes his place at the table, Leocadie beside him. The Wolf looks furious and the scent of anger from the rest of his School is thick in the air. They seem to be the only ones aware of what the meeting is about but there’s a piece of parchment held tight in the Wolf’s hand and Merten has a feeling it’s the reason they’re here.

Ivar strides through the doors and sits, nodding to the Wolf. Artek follows him and that makes their Council. “Thank you for arriving so swiftly. Milena here received a letter from one of her contacts in Redania this morning. The old Duke Velen has died and Aleksander de Velen has taken his seat. He is the one who wrote the letter. Geralt will explain the contents shortly but Master Merten, I would prefer for you to know first.” Eskel Amber-Eyed says and Merten feels an eyebrow raise. He’s only ever been in Redania when he was on the Path. What there could possibly hold his attention?

The letter is passed to him and he unfurls it and starts to read. Dear Milena, the letter starts and Merten continues. Oh sweet Melitele.

“Dear Milena, My grandfather is dead and I have become Duke of Velen. I knew he was a monster but dearest sister, I could not begin to imagine the horrors he has allowed under his reign. There is a dungeon under the Keep and three mages in Velen’s employ. Some fifteen, twenty, years ago, a group of mercenaries in my grandfather’s pay brought down a Witcher. They left his Medallion for his people to find and presume him dead so that King Vizimir, his Mages, and my grandfather could keep him captive to experiment on.”. Here the writing becomes even shakier than it already was and Merten cannot stop himself from reading, even though he can only think of one Manticore who has disappeared in the manner described.

“The Witcher I saw beneath the Keep is named Aren of the Manticore school but he is not the only Witcher kept captive there. The mages wished to create more Witchers using Aren’s blood and imitate the Trials yours go through. Over the years, they have captured and experimented on one hundred and twelve young Redanian girls. Only four survived the false Trials. Sweet Melitele, Milena, I snuck into the dungeons last night once I learned of their captivity, and they are so small. The eldest must be nearing sixteen and she is as thin as a child of seven. Aren of Manticore is covered in scars, even moreso than your Witchers. His voice is shredded and I can only imagine the horrors that caused a Witcher to scream so.”.

Merten has to stop then, unable to read more about what his cub has gone through. Aren’s beautiful deep voice, shredded from years of screaming. He understands the Wolves fury but he feels grief, deeper than any ocean he has ever crossed. He leans into Leocadie, trembling. He feels tears prick at his eyes and for the first time in decades he lets them fall.

His anger rises in him too and he vows to rip the throat from the mages who have done this to his cub. To his cubs, for if Aren’s blood is the thing that changed them, it means they are Manticores. They are his.

The mages will die and Aren will be freed, his girls with him. He’ll bring his cubs to Kaer Morhen and show them a world in which Witchers are revered rather than reviled, a world where they are safe. He will reunite Aren with Theo, Fili, Gregor, Jinsan even and introduce him to Zenon, to Yori, to Rilanth.

The School of the Manticores is small, but they take care of their own. Merten and Leocadie have stood at its head for centuries and Gods willing, they will stand for decades more. They will bring their cub home.

The parchment falls from Merten’s hand and their husband collapses into Leocadie’s side, tears falling from his eyes. Leocadie is startled but they wrap an arm around Merten anyways, picking up the letter. They wonder idly what could have caused Merten such grief- the whole School is currently in Kaer Morhen, no one out on the Path so death is ruled out.

The Wolves watch them sadly but the other Witchers seem as surprised as Leocadie is. “Leocadie, may I have the letter?” Eskel asks and they hand it back wordlessly. Eskel begins to read it out loud for the benefit of the confused Witchers around him and suddenly, Leocadie understands.

Merten is the Head of the Manticore School but Leocadie is their teacher too. Aren was one of theyr cubs and Leocadie had been so proud when he lasted so long on the Path. He had supposedly died only a few months before the White Wolf came up with his madcap plan and the grief he felt for Aren was compounded by the sting of regret that he hadn’t lived long enough to see Kaer Morhen become their home.

Aren isn’t dead though. While Leocadie had been mourning and then healing and moving on, Aren had been chained in the dungeon of a Redanian noble, desperately trying to protect the girls imprisoned with him, bleeding and hurting even as Leocadie was training new boys and laughing with Merten. Gods, Gregor had brought Aren’s Medallion back to Kaer Morhen and Leocadie had taken it as proof that Aren was dead and never looked for him.

Leocadie has failed him but he has a chance now to make up for it. They will free Aren and dispose of Vizimir and Leocadie will work for the rest of their life to earn their cub’s forgiveness.

Theo stares in horror at the dungeon around him. There are four teenage girls in a cage to the side, all of them scarred and starved. And in front of him, Aren lies bound to a table, blindfolded. He’s covered in scars, and Theo recognises only a few of them. He’s thinner than the youngest of the Manticubs and Theo feels bile rising in his throat at the sight of his brother’s ribs, some of them clearly broken.

The two outsiders confirm that they’ll stand by the Wolf’s decision to execute Vizimir and Master Merten calls for Theo to help him free Aren. He steps forward and slides his fingers gently under the strap around Aren’s right wrist before breaking the leather with a grunt of exertion. He swiftly does the same to the strap at his ankle before moving back up to help Master Merten break the godsdamned collar the Redanians put on his brother.

He pulls a knife from his belt and very carefully slips it between the collar and Aren’s throat as Master Merten snaps the iron links attached to it. Fili undoes the gag as Theo moves to slice open the blindfold. Master Merten is at Aren’s head as he blinks slowly, adjusting to the light after the blindfold.

The old Master gathers Aren into a hug and Theo smiles as his brother’s arms come up slowly to reciprocate. One of the girls in the corner calls out to Aren uncertainly and the Manticore stands up with Master Merten’s help, hobbling over to the cubs.

Theo follows and grins viciously when Master Merten kicks the corpse of the infernal mage as he passes. Theo’s boot comes down on the dead mages hand as he walks over to the cage. He may be as dead as his fellow but Theo feels a little better when he hears the crunch of bone.

Esra of the Bears breaks the lock on the cage and the girls stream out, crowding around Aren. Theo watches in approval as one of them grabs the head of the other mage and smashes it viciously. She’s a great Witcher already- the Manticores will be the luckiest school in Kaedwen if Aren’s girls decide to join them. Though even if he and the girls choose to never walk the Path again, its enough for Theo to have his brother back. Anything else is a bonus.

Zenon balances a tray of food on his hip as he knocks at the Pride’s door. They’re still wary of the other Witchers and thus far haven’t wanted to eat in the hall. Fair enough, the Hall can be overwhelming sometimes. Zenon still prefers to eat with the rest of the trainees even though the oldest Manticore trainees are encouraged to spend time with their already graduated brothers.

Elena opens the door and smiles when she sees Zenon. “Thank you!” She says cheerfully when he passes her the tray. “No bother, milady. The kitchens said they would send up dessert later, but since it’s cold they didn’t want it to melt before ye got a chance to eat it.” He says, explaining the minor decrease in food on the tray.

Elena nods in understanding and Zenon bows shallowly to her before turning to leave. Some of the other trainees hate Master Sasha’s courtly training but Zenon rather likes it. His parents had been travelling merchants before they were killed by a kikimora and Zenon had spent some time with nobles who were interested in buying from them.

As he’s about to leave, he’s stopped by a call from inside. “Come here for a second, boy. I’d like to speak with you.” Aren says and Zenon turns back around. He takes a step through the door, looks to the girls for permission and is granted it. “What can I do for you?” He asks politely and Aren squints at him. “You’ve been delivering food up to us since we got here but you seemed familiar to me even before that. How do I know you?” The elder Manticore asks and Zenon smiles.

“I’m one of the eldest Manticore trainees, sir. I had just joined the School when we moved to Kaer Morhen but I wasn’t offered to the Witchers nor a Child Surprise. My parents died by a kikimora and you were the Witcher who slew it. You saved my life and brought me to the Manticores.” Zenon explains and Aren snaps his fingers. “I remember! It was one of the last fights I had before the mercenaries. I’m glad that you made it through the Trials.” He says genuinely and Zenon blushes.

“You must nearly be done with your training, then?” Aren asks. Zenon nods. “Yeah, I’ll go out on the Path next year. Hopefully, I’ll do the Manticores proud.” He answers and Aren laughs. His voice is ragged but stronger now than it was. “You’ve been trained by the best School, boy, of course you will! Let me know when you head out and I’ll see you off. Feels good to know that the tiny stripling I saved became a full grown Witcher.” He says.

One of the girls crowds a little closer. “If Aren brought you to become a Witcher and his blood made us Witchers, then in my opinion you’re part of the Pride. I’m Zia and I’d very much like to fight you, little brother.” She says decisively and Zenon splutters. “I’m older than you!” He says indignantly and Zia laughs. “I’ve spent this long being the oldest, I’m not giving that up for a damn boy.” She says stubbornly and Zenon considers her for a minute.

“How about you stay the oldest sister and I’ll be the oldest brother? You’ll still be oldest at something.” He bargains and she regards him curiously. “Hm. I’ll take it but I reserve the right to mess with your hair. It’s a fucking rats nest.”

Fair enough, Winise stole his comb and he hasn’t figured out where the little bastard hid it. “Deal.” He says, holding out his hand. She takes it and they shake on it, his new sisters watching on.

Zenon goes to grab his dinner from the kitchens and comes back up to share a meal with his sisters and his Finder. It’s nice- he’s got a few little brothers in the trainees but he’s never had a sister, let alone four of them. He suspects they’ll make his life hard sometimes but honestly, he doesn’t care. He plans on taking a leaf out of the Princess’s book anyways. He wonders if the girls will like geese.

(the answer is a very emphatic no and he finds that out the extremely hard way. Still, Zenon wouldn’t trade his sisters for all the geese in the world. Even if their idea of retribution includes spiders. Gods, he hates spiders.)

[inexplicifics]

"How to Distract the Warlord of the North, Terror of the Continent, Ruler of Kaedwen, Caingorn, Kovir, Redania, Temeria, and the top half of Aedirn:

Offer him a baby. Or a horse. Or both."

I raise you: offer him a baby horse.

Oh well done! We won't be seeing him for the next several months at minimum.

(The drawback to this is now you have to deal with Eskel Amber-Eyed instead. Or possibly that's a benefit?)

[funkylittlebard]

Oh No He's Hot

THE LAST ONE OH GOD

Here on AO3

Rating: Teen

No CWs, but some tags: Trans Eskel, Nonbinary Lambert, Fluff, Developing Relationship, AU- Modern Setting, Neighborsthey/them pronouns for Lambert

Lambskel meet cute ish below

Lambert stared down at the ripped shreds of paper in their hands in horror. They had been expecting a delivery- a new skirt, long and purple, certain to be satisfyingly swishy- and so when they had received a package that afternoon, naturally they had torn straight into it, not bothering to read the label. Only to discover an item of clothing that they had definitely not ordered. They pulled it out of the paper with trembling hands. It was a pale skin tone sort of crop top- wait a second. Their older brother used to wear those a few years ago. Why would there be one in a parcel delivered to Lambert’s house though? Wait. Oh no.

They picked up the paper, peeling it back to reveal the label. Oh, fuck. It was addressed to- well, there was a name you didn’t hear very often- an Eskel Bursztyn whose house was next door. Oh God, this just got worse by the minute. They’d never even met the guy who lived next door, and now they’d accidentally opened his mail before he even could. This was going to be extremely awkward, to say the least.

With a soft whine and a large wince on their face, Lambert wrapped the binder back up in the ruined packaging and tried to smooth out the creases they’d created. No, they thought grimacing down at it, it was unsalvageable. They had very obviously ripped open Eskel’s parcel and then taped it back up.

Sighing, they jammed their feet into the nearest pair of shoes, pocketed their keys, and headed out the door. With the parcel wedged under their left arm and their right hand jammed in the pocket of their short red skirt, Lambert bit their lip and bounced up the front steps of number twenty-nine. They took a nervous breath of air, knocked on the door, and jumped back from the door, bouncing on the balls of their feet, full of anxious energy.

It only took a moment for the door to open, revealing a man with huge, broad shoulders and piercing amber eyes. Lambert felt their mouth drop open, unable to stop themself from staring unabashedly at the very muscular figure stood before them.

“Fuck…” they whispered as they felt heat rushing up to their cheeks.

“Um, can I help you?” came a low grumble from the man in front of him. Lambert had to use all of their willpower not to squeak- fucking hell, this man was stunning. Lambert forced their eyes up and had to look away again almost immediately. They felt thoroughly overwhelmed from one glance at the stranger’s face- how the fuck were they going to carry out a conversation with him? They cleared their throat and turned to face him again. Thick strong biceps, a narrow, trim waist, those stunning eyes, and a gorgeous shy looking smile met him. They swallowed again, staring at the man- Eskel, his name was Eskel- Eskel’s face. He had soft-looking jaw-length brown hair and Lambert wanted to run their hands through it already. His eyes were striking, and Lambert found themself staring at a point just above them to carry out the conversation in the least embarrassing manner possible.

“Sorry! Yes, I, uh, my name is Lambert, I live next door at number twenty-eight?”

Eskel nodded, head tilted to the side, making himself look like a confused puppy. Lambert bit their lip, willing themself not to coo at the sight. “And well, look I’m really sorry, but I accidentally opened your post. Got delivered to the wrong house I think, uh, sorry,” they stuttered, rubbing the back of their neck. They nearly melted into the doorstep when Eskel smiled back at them, a wide beam full of warmth.

“You opened my post. That’s what you’re trying to tell me, right?” Still smiling broadly, he crossed his arms across his chest, his eyes flashing with a hint of something uncomfortable for a second. Lambert frowned again as they remembered exactly what it was they had uncovered in the package.

“Yeah, uh, sorry I didn’t mean to intrude. And obviously, I’m not judging you or anything, I’m, uh, I’m not-”

The man held up a hand with a grimace, other arm still splayed self-consciously across his chest. “Really, you don’t have to explain yourself it’s fine-”

Lambert couldn’t stop themself from talking now they’d started. It was an absolute curse, they were positive, that they could go weeks without revealing any personal detail of themself to anyone, and then the moment they did- word vomit. They kept rambling. “No, I- I want to, I wouldn’t want you to think I was a transphobe or something, because, well, I’m not cis either,” they finished, feeling a little out of breath, their heart running a mile a minute. Heart pounding frantically, they stood wide-eyed as it occurred to them just how much of themselves they had given to this perfect stranger who happened to live next door. The man was smiling at them tenderly. He reached out to take the parcel from Lambert. Lambert could feel themself shaking all over, tried to reign it in, and only ended up making their breathing rate go through the roof. Bollocks, they needed to get a hold of themself.

“Hey, um, Lambert, was it?” Eskel was speaking to them. Oh god. Lambert shook themself out of their stupor and looked at him.

“Uh, yeah?” There was that blinding smile again. Lambert swallowed heavily at the sight of it, feeling themself already starting to wonder what Eskel’s favourite food was so that they could learn how to cook it.

“How would you like if we introduced ourselves again?” He reached behind himself to place the battered package on a table in his hallway. He stuck his hand out. “So, my name is Eskel Bursztyn, I use he/ him pronouns. How about you, neighbour?”

Lambert spluttered for a moment, not sure what to do with their hands. Then they stuck one out, noticing their chipped nail polish as they did so. “I’m Lambert, I use…” they took a deep breath, “I use they/them. I’m nonbinary.” They breathed a sigh of relief as Eskel took their hand and shook it, a dazzling smile still plastered to his face.

“Well, Lambert, would you like to come inside for a cup of tea? I’ve got all sorts in here.”

Lambert swallowed, and couldn’t contain their own bright grin any longer. “Absolutely I would.”

[mordoriscalling]

The Shrike and the Lark (pt. 4)

Jaskier and Renfri are disaster twins ruling Creyden. When the Warlord of the North knocks at their door, Queen Renfri and King Julian are at an advantage - they know him. As in, they know him. (Inspired by the Warlord AU and “the heart is a winged beast”).

(Pt. 1) (Pt. 2) (Pt. 3)

Creyden, 1237

“My Queen is a match for your Lord,” King Julian remarks.

A match they are indeed. Queen Renfri’s skill with the blade is legendary, and the Warlord wields his weapon with the same level of mastery. The two are sparring in the courtyard, with a continuously growing audience. Witchers, the Royal Guard, courtiers and servants passing by; everyone stares at them in awe, for such lethal grace is staggering to witness.

The Queen and the Warlord are locked in a breathtaking, violent dance. One may almost see the sparks fly as they spin, duck, and par each other’s blows. When their swords cross, their faces mere inches apart, they freeze. The warrior and the wariorress stare at one another, panting heavily. The tension between them is palatable, but then Queen Renfri moves, and they are dancing again.

“That’s only because Geralt is on the defensive,” Eskel replies.

The sound of the King’s surprised laughter carries far. Some of the onlookers in the courtyard look up but, as they behold King Julian the Eskel standing together on the wall overseeing the ward, their attention returns to the ongoing duel. The King and the White Wolf’s right hand sharing each other’s company is an expected sight at this point.

The Warlord and his entourage arrived a week ago. Half of the witchers who came then have now left for good, for their presence is not necessary. In truth, only the Wolf and his two advisors have been constantly working for the past five days, endeavouring to negotiate the new treaty as quickly as possible. In the meantime, those witchers who remain in Creyden have taken to sparring in the courtyard, sometimes fighting with some of the more daring knights of the Royal Guard. Today is the first day that their Lord has joined them, soon followed by Queen Renfri.

“Why do you put so much faith in your Lord?” King Julian asks.

“Geralt is the strongest and fastest among us,” Eskel answers with a shrug. “If he were on the offensive, it would take him less than five moves to disarm your Queen.”

At least a part of Eskel’s claims is true – Queen Renfri has been the aggressor from the start of the duel. She attacks the White Wolf mercilessly, with viciousness she is infamous for. In a moment like this, the notoriety of the Shrike shows its foundations.

Yet, on the very same basis, the efficacy of Creyden’s army was built; after ascending the throne, Queen Renfri saw to the training of her knights and soilers by herself. Her experience in pardonless fighting proved invaluable; thanks to it, she led her warriors – just as she had led her bandits before – to victory.

“Beat him, my Queen!” King Julian calls loudly so that his sister can hear him. “I know you can, you’ve practised for this!” he cheers her on, “Day and night, you did! You’ve dreamed of defeating–”

“My King... please!” Queen Renfri exclaims between blows, “Will you... stop... that?!”

“Never!” her brother proclaims, drawing some laughs from the crowd below.

The King’s support seems to bear fruit then – Queen Renfri’s strikes become even faster and more violent. The White Wolf can no longer last under the assault and yields. As he does so, loud applause for the Queen rings out in the ward.

“He let her win not to cause offence,” Eskel says.

King Julian chuckles, shaking his head. “You know your Lord well, don’t you?”

“He’s like a brother to me,” the witcher replies, “We’ve shared a strong bond since we were boys.”

King Julian only hums in response. Eskel considers him for a moment, then speaks again, “And yet, when Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen for the winter after three years of not doing so, he refused to speak of the bard who had kept him away, even to me. He ignored all my questions. He couldn’t hide his hurt from me, though.”

King Julian does not answer at once. Instead, he observes as Kan, the Captain of the Royal Guard, and Lambert, a witcher with fiery hair and even fiercer temperament, begin to spar. Yet, Eskel’s gaze on him is a heavy, insistent weight, and he surrenders eventually.

“I am guilty of hurting him,” he admits ruefully. “Geralt only knew me to be Jaskier the bard. A troubadour who loved him... but who wasn’t honest with him. When he discovered who I really was, he didn’t hear it from me.”

Eskel scowls but calmly inquires, “Why didn’t you tell him?”

“My own safety,” the King replies. “I feared for my life. I couldn’t tell him of how Stregobor imprisoned me in one of the towers of this very castle. Of how after I finally escaped, I ran and ran, and ran. I lived in fear of being pursued, stole and forged identities to survive.”

“He would’ve kept your secret at all costs,” the Wolf witcher counters.  

“I know,” Julian agrees easily. “But the scars which Stregobor inflicted upon me were too fresh. I couldn’t bear to talk about it back then.”

The conversation lulls for a while after that. The two watch Kan and Lambert spar until it is Eskel who speaks.

“I’m glad to see that you’ve healed enough,” he says, bereft of any anger or judgement.

The King’s gaze snaps to his witcher companion, the look in his eyes as warm as a summer sky. “You’re too kind,” he says.

Julian then reaches out and tucks a strand of Eskel’s blonde hair behind his ear. His hand lingers there, by Eskel’s cheek. The witcher stills, clearly taken aback by the touch.

“Your Majesty?” he murmurs uncertainly.

The King hesitates. Gingerly, he starts rubbing his thumb against the witcher’s skin. The caress is met with no resistance and he confesses, “I find myself wishing to be near you every minute of the day. To wake up and fall asleep beside you.”

Eskel sighs and moves away. “King Julian –” he begins, his tone suddenly formal.

“Jaskier.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m Jaskier to my friends.”

The witcher nods. “Jaskier, then. You honour me with your attention, but I must ask you not to pursue any further intimacy with me.”

“Must?” Jaskier echoes. “Why do you “must”?”

“I... don’t want to make these negotiations any more difficult.”

“So loyal,” Jaskier says, regarding the witcher with admiration, “So dedicated, to staying in the shadows. Why won’t you let some light shine on you?”

Eskel smiles wryly. Then, he turns his head, displaying the side of his face that is terribly marred. “Some scars of mine will never heal,” he admits.  

Jaskier’s features twist into an expression both pained and compassionate. “I could provide you with some relief, at least for a short while,” he offers, “I could take your worries away, ease the tension in your shoulders.”

The witcher seems immune to the ardent willingness. “No, thank you,” he declines. “I suspect you want me so because you see him in me. We bear a lot of resemblance to each other, I’ve been told.”

Jaskier is not deterred by the bitterness, nor the self-depreciation, in Eskel’s tone. With an earnest, wide-eyed gaze, he steps in closer towards the witcher.

“I see wonder in you,” he says quietly. “All the things you’ve told me about, about how much you do to serve your lord... You achieve whatever is asked of you because you care about your kin so deeply. What is your limit? Or can you make anything happen for the ones you love? What a wonder you are.”

Eskel looks upon Jaskier as if he was seeing him for the first time. “You are sincere,” he says.

Witchers, with their enhanced senses, are able to notice when someone is being disingenuine. The human body does not function normally when a lie leaves one’s mouth, and witchers have learnt to discern even the barest hints of untruth. Yet, it does not seem to be the case now.

“That I am,” Jaskier affirms, bold certainty in the whole of his posture. Then, he moves even closer to Eskel, looking deep into his amber eyes. “I cannot stop thinking about the wonder of you.”

“Gods be damned,” Eskel breathes out. “How am I to resist your song, Lark? How am I to deny you when you call to me so sweetly?”

Jaskier tilts his head up invitingly. “I call to you because I can hear you howling, Wolf,” he whispers, his voice low and husky.  

Eskel cradles Jaskier’s face in his large, rough hands. The delicate features of Jaskier’s face seem overpowered by the lines of Eskel’s strong palms.

“You maddening creature,” the witcher murmurs.

They breathe the same air now and their eyes are half-shut, heavy-lidded with desire. They are drawn to one another, inch by inch. Their lips are about to meet in a kiss, but then loud cheers erupt below, extinguishing the heat between them. Eskel and Jaskier jerk away from each other and look down, searching for the source of the interruption.

Lambert has just won against Kan.

Eskel clears his throat. “Let me consider it,” he tells Jaskier, “I shall give you an answer later today.”

At dinner, Eskel and King Julian are seen to retire for the evening together.

Read the rest on AO3

[raynerfoxstuff]

Give Your Witcher Nerf Swords

I don’t normally write things, but this one has been eating at my brain for far too long. In a modern AU, what happens when School of the Wolf Witchers get their hands on Nerf weapons? 

Hear me out on this one.

All the Wolf Witchers are likely several decades older than the invention of foam dart blasters. Even Lambert, the youngest of the Wolf brothers, is probably older than toy cap guns, so none of them have childhood memories of anything remotely like Nerf weapons.

Their first encounter with them is in the hands of little boys emulating their parent's prejudice. It’s something easily ignored, and nothing an amber-eyed glare can’t fix, but they all find it a little unsettling to know exactly what parents are teaching children about Witchers.

All Wolves, and many other Witchers, find toy cap guns incredibly annoying. The pronounced pop they make to the sulfuric scent the percussion caps have after they explode to the fact that the toy weapon is aimed at them. It would be innocuous to humans, but to Witchers, its the worst toy to have ever been created. 

Only Geralt found something useful about these things when he tracked down a boy lost in the woods. The scent from those popped caps lingered on the boy’s clothes, leaving a clear trail for him to follow, and the boy was very lucky that Geralt found him in time. But this is way too circumstantial for any Witcher to change their mind about those toys.

Then came the advent of suction cup arrows and plastic toy bows. The Witchers don’t like these much either. But when Lambert snatched one of these suction cup arrows from the air and kept it, the Wolves made a game of how many toy projectiles they can collect from kids shooting at them. 

They compare their stockpiles every winter. 

Surprisingly, Eskel is winning with Vesemir (secretly) in second and Lambert in third. Geralt is last. He likes everyone to think that it’s because he doesn’t care, but everyone knows its because he’s too nice and gives the toy munitions back when a kid’s lips start to wobble.

So, the Wolves noticed when suction cup arrows transition into colorful soft foam darts. 

Lambert ends up with the most darts that winter and has to convince the others that they’re real. The others only have a handful, while Lambert has enough to supply several little kids for a whole kid-friendly battle. 

(No, he did not walk into a toy store and buy foam darts, and a toy dart gun for a little boy who’s abusive father recently died in a contract related accident leaving him orphaned. No, Lambert didn’t also buy some for himself. He’s not a softy or a cheat - what kind of Witcher do you think he is?)

So, after much argument, mainly just Geralt and Lambert with Eskel being a devil’s advocate, they come to an agreement that this new toy is worth half a point each. This only bumped Lambert up to second, but just barely.

But, this is the game that the Wolves play. They don’t think much of it anymore. It’s just second nature to snatch any wayward toy projectile from the air and pocket it. It’s another type of trophy for them at this point.

Vesemir is secretly winning by now, and Geralt was bumped up to third for reasons Eskel and Lambert aren’t sure of. 

Speaking of Lambert, he’s the reason that this little collection game spread to the School of the Cat via Aiden. The Cats are beating any Wolves by miles if they ever sat down to compare notes. Only Aiden and Lambert do that, so no one’s the wiser.

This game continues, and nothing changes until Geralt meets Jaskier.

The bard (or reporter or musician or busker or blogger or whatever job Jaskier would get in modern times) doesn’t notice the dart game at first. Jaskier tends to be the one in the spotlight during the downtime between contracts, but when he does see Geralt grab a Nerf dart out of the air without looking, he’s amazed. But he has to ask why Geralt keeps it? What does a Witcher need a foam dart for?

Getting a story out of the White Wolf is like pulling teeth at the best of times, and Geralt stonewalls him whenever he tries to get an answer concerning Nerf darts. It’s second nature for the Witcher to grab and pocket darts, and why does he need to tell Jaskier anything?

But, the story comes out eventually once both parties are sufficiently drunk off their asses. Jaskier’s lucky he even remembers it in the morning. Regardless, his first question to Geralt after he finished talking was: “But … do you even use them? Like, you’ve got so many, why not do some … something with ‘em? Huh?”

Geralt only hummed in response, and they both passed out not too long after that.

From that conversation, though, an idea was born in Jaskier’s mind. Before they parted that winter, Jaskier gave Geralt three identical Nerf blasters. He’d heard Geralt mention brothers in passing and decided to arm as many Wolves as he knew about.

Jaskier wouldn’t find out what he’d done until late next spring, and it was glorious.

At first, Jaskier’s gift did nothing. 

The colorful toy dart guns sat in Geralt’s car, still in their packaging. Geralt wasn’t sure what to do with them. They weren’t practical in any way.

The only reason he accepted the gift was that he felt awkward as Jaskier handed the bag to him, and he couldn’t quite get a word in while Jaskier went on and on about how much fun he’d had with these kinds of toys when he was a kid.

Geralt also didn’t have the heart to tell Jaskier that he didn’t know what to do with them and never played with anything remotely like this. (Not that he really played as a child.)

So, Jaskier’s gift sat there in Geralt's 4Runner, always dubbed Roach, until nosy Lambert spotted the plastic bag through a window when down to the garage to check on the cars and his motorcycle. (Because you’re telling me that Lambert wouldn’t prefer a motorcycle to a more suitable off-road type of vehicles? I don’t think so.)

Out of pure curiosity, Lambert swears, he brings the bag up to the common area. 

Geralt protests, but was promptly overruled by his brothers as the contents are revealed. Lambert won’t accept the explanation that it was a gift and gives Geralt shit for owning toys, but the countdown had started until open Nerf warfare began.

Even though Lambert refuses to believe that Jaskier gave Geralt the Nerf guns, both Eskel and Lambert lay claim to one of them, leaving one for Geralt.

To no one’s surprise at all, Lambert would be the one to instigate it. He fell in love with the toy blaster immediately, though he’d never admit it - even under the influence of alcohol. 

He was the first one to fire his Nerf weapon, but Geralt didn’t take the bait to annoy Lambert as much as he could, and Eskel only teased them. No one quite had the energy that evening to pick a fight because of training. Besides, none of the Wolf brothers had figured out how to properly aim these toys yet.

But, it was only a matter of time. 

Lambert used his Nerf blaster as a tool to annoy his brothers. Throughout the following week, Geralt and Eskel learned to anticipate a surprise dart to the back, face, or head. The youngest Wolf even tried it on Vesemir once, but a cold glare shut that down immediately. 

To say that it annoyed the older two brothers would have been the biggest understatement that winter. Retaliation was on its way. 

That evening as the older brothers sat in the commons area playing Super Smash Bros on a well-loved and well taken care of Nintendo 64, Geralt wound up catching the surprise dart heard around Kaer Morhen, and Eskel whipped out his own Nerf blaster. 

This first Nerf battle in Kaer Morhen went on for hours. 

Vesemir could have shut it down, and he almost did when he came in and grabbed a book from the shelves. But, instead of sitting in his Lazy-Boy, the patriarch of the School of the Wolf retired to his room. 

None of them saw their mentor’s smile as he left. He wasn’t about to take this fun away from his boys.

As soon as Vesemir was gone, the battle resumed. Much swearing and teasing was heard that night.

Many similar Nerf blaster fights took place that winter with one epic one in which all collected darts were used, and even suction cup arrows were thrown with surprising accuracy. In the end, no one was quite sure whose darts belonged to whom. 

But, winter ended, and all the Wolves had to head back out on the Path. At least next winter, they had something more than training to look forward to.

Back on the Path, when Geralt inevitably reencountered Jaskier, the White Wolf had to communicate his brothers’ (and his own, begrudgingly) thanks to Jaskier for the gifts. In due time, the younger man heard about the mixture of chaos, mischief, and joy the Nerf blaster had brought to Kaer Morhen.

This thrill Jaskier to no end, and he eagerly told Geralt about foam Nerf swords ...

Thus ends my ADD thoughts for now. Should I do more?

[mollymawkwrites]

Geralt/Eskel/Jaskier: Geralt brings Jaskier to Kaer Morhen and Eskel/Jaskier get their shit together first (communication skills!!) and Geralt comes to a Realization - dp/spitroasting - the turn of seasons, contrast of bright/dark, warm/cold

... this took way too long and I am so sorry about that. As an apology, here’s more than 5.5k of feelings, pining and misunderstandings, with a sprinkle of smut (as an apology, and not at all because I have zero self-restraint). Thank you so much for the lovely prompt, I hope this lives up to expectations 💖

I’ll post the link to Ao3 in the replies when this is beta’ed, sorry if there are any big mistakes!

CW: post-Mountain break-up, smut, Geralt’s Canonical Self-Loathing.

Falling in love with Eskel is the easiest thing Jaskier has ever done.

It happens slowly, but with a certainty that Jaskier has rarely felt before. Like sinking into a feather mattress, silk sheets caressing your skin.

It was never that easy with Geralt. Jaskier fell in love with him fast, sure, but he also fell hard, had to pick himself up afterwards, bruised and bloody.

The first day he arrives at Kaer Morhen, two weeks after his rescue from Nilfgaardian spies, Jaskier is miserable. The trek up the mountain has been hard on him, but harder even was his underwhelming reunion with Geralt, who barely acknowledged him, grunting that he'd be safer in Kaer Morhen before leaving Jaskier to decide by himself what he wanted to do.

His heart aches with two years of missing his best friend, finding he misses him even more now that they’ve been reunited. He'd always told himself he didn't hold any hope of his relationship with Geralt ever evolving into something more, but getting his heart broken on the top of a mountain had made him realise he'd somehow managed to fool himself too.

So he's prepared to spend a winter avoiding his former friend, though Geralt would probably not even call him that, holing up in whatever drafty room he's been attributed, and then he'll find a new name and dye his hair a different colour and hope it's enough to fool the Nilfs. It's a hard choice to make, renouncing the name he's made for himself, the reputation he's built over twenty years of hard work and songs he's still proud of today. But it's all tied too tightly to Geralt, and neither him nor his heart will survive it. Maybe, if Jaskier the Witcher’s bard is forgotten by everyone, his heartbreak won't be so obvious.

That pathetical plan is countered as soon as he steps foot in Kaer Morhen, and Geralt's brothers and mentor introduce themselves to him. They are similar, yet so different to the Witcher he's known for more than half his life.

They welcome him, if not with open arms, at least with warmth and smiles and, in Lambert's case, snarky banter Jaskier takes great pleasure in reciprocating.

Eskel doesn't draw his attention much at first. The dark-haired Witcher is friendly, tugging Geralt in a bear-like embrace as soon as they've passed the gates, and shaking Jaskier's hand with a kind, genuine smile Jaskier can't help but return.

But over the next couple of weeks, Jaskier spends more and more time with the amber-eyed wolf, discussing music and poetry and history as they execute their respective chores. After only a few days, Eskel is the one who searches him out when Jaskier is helping Vesemir in the kitchen or feeding the chickens in the courtyard. He shows him around the keep, more than the customary tour Vesemir gave Jaskier on his first day here. Eskel is full of stories from his childhood in the keep, and he is not greedy with the details. Jaskier can sense the underlying grief when the Witcher talks about the boys who didn't make it in the Trials, but Eskel doesn't linger in the sadness and makes sure to tell Jaskier all about his and Geralt's most imaginative antics.

The Witcher's company is a delight, and a nice distraction from Jaskier's heartache. When he can't take Geralt's silence and avoidance anymore, he seeks Eskel and his warmth, bathing in the man's attention. After a month, he finds himself dreaming of tanned hands and dark hair as much as pale skin and silver strands.

At first, he feels guilty about it. Eskel does not deserve to be someone's second choice. What he deserves is unconditional, untainted love.

But as days pass, frost a little thicker on the blades of grass in the courtyard every morning, the mountains losing their warm autumn colours to shades of blue and grey, Jaskier and Eskel gravitate towards each other until they collide, softly and without a sound. It happens so naturally, Jaskier almost thinks he’s dreamt it when he wakes up one day at dawn, and instead of his freezing room, he opens his eyes to a broad, golden-skinned chest. His cheek rises and falls with the slow breaths where it rests on one plush pec, a pool of his own saliva glistening in a smattering of dark hair.

He hasn’t felt that relaxed in years, and only part of it is due to the frankly fantastic post-sex bliss he’s still basking in. There is no anxiety, no second thoughts. Eskel made sure to make his intentions clear before they fell into bed together, shocking Jaskier into silence with how open with his feelings he was. The bard still can’t help but compare how completely different Geralt and Eskel are.

They agreed to take things slow, to enjoy each other for the winter and then see where things take them. Jaskier knows he’s falling in love with Eskel, but it doesn’t feel scary. He won’t be alone once the time comes to make a decision.

It takes another week for him to move into Eskel’s room completely. They don’t bother hiding their new… entanglement, to the others. No secret can be kept in a keep full of Witchers, and neither Eskel nor Jaskier cares to pretend.

Lambert gives them shit, to no one’s surprise, and Ciri squeals in delight, the gossiping princess resurfacing for a few moments. Vesemir claps Eskel on the shoulder, before reminding all of them that they have chores to do.

Geralt doesn’t say anything.

Jaskier didn’t expect him to jump in joy, he’s not sure the Witcher is even capable of such displays of emotion, but the white-haired Witcher doesn’t even look at them, only ushers Ciri outside to the training grounds.

Over the next few weeks, Jaskier only sees him at supper. He’s gotten used to avoiding Geralt, to keep out of his way, but until then they would still meet in the hall when the weather was too bad for the Witchers to train outside, or at lunch when they would accidentally come in for a bite at the same time. Eskel and Geralt spend a considerable amount of time together, and Jaskier would often find them together doing whatever repair was needed, but these days, when he manages to escape his chores long enough to seek his lover for a stolen kiss or a quick fuck, Geralt is nowhere in sight.

When Jaskier asks his amber-eyed wolf one evening after they retired to their room, Eskel confirms what he already suspected.

“I haven’t seen him in a while, no,” the Witcher rumbles softly, a hand tracing arabesques on the bare skin of Jaskier’s back. “He goes hunting alone almost every day. He does that, sometimes, when he’s upset, though I’m not sure what it’s about, this time.”

Jaskier hums, pensive. His heart clenches at the thought of Geralt avoiding his own family. Guilt creeps on him, its long, sharp claws burying themselves under his ribs. How dare he come to Geralt’s only home, his only place of peace and acceptance, and claim a place in his brother’s heart? He’s done a shit job of fulfilling Geralt’s wish of having him out of his life, hasn’t he?

A strong arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him closer to the furnace of Eskel’s body.

“What’re you thinking of that makes you smell so sad, songbird?”

Jaskier smiles at the endearment. His wolf is generous with his affection, and Jaskier is selfish. He wants it all. But does he have any right to it, if he is taking it from Geralt?

“Do you think it’s because of us?” He asks, turning his head to rest his chin on Eskel’s sternum. “That Geralt is keeping to himself, I mean.”

Eskel frowns pensively. “I… don’t know. I suppose, in a way. But I think he’s mostly wallowing in his own self-loathing.”

“When isn’t he?” Jaskier teases.

The Witcher huffs, a sad half-smile tugging at his scars. “I was afraid he’d be jealous, or upset, hoping maybe it’d help him pull his head out of his own ass, but I’m afraid it’s buried even deeper than I thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I didn’t want to get between the two of you, but I know Geralt. He ain’t gonna do anything about it, and then he’ll regret it once it’s too late.”

That doesn’t make any sense. “Eskel, there’s nothing between me and Geralt.” Well, that’s not quite true. “I wanted there to be something, for a very long time, but… well, turns out I was the only one wanting it. If anything, I thought I was the one getting between the two of you.”

“Songbird, there hasn’t been anything but friendship between Geralt and I since before you were born.” Sadness clouds Eskel’s eyes for a second, and the piece Jaskier has been missing clicks into place.

“You and Geralt were together?” He asks, voice tight with emotion.

“Not sure we can even call it that,” a bitter smile twists Eskel’s scars in a painful grimace. “We found… comfort, with each other, when nothing else could give us that. But it hasn’t been like that in a very long time.”

“Why?”

Eskel shrugs with one shoulder, almost dislodging Jaskier from his position. “People change, songbird. And when you live as long as we do, well… you can’t expect things to stay the same forever. I’m glad we stayed as close as we are, despite him not wanting us to be anything other than friends anymore.”

The Witcher kisses the crown of Jaskier’s head and flicks his wrist, snuffing out the candles, a clear sign that the conversation is over. Jaskier doesn’t push, conscious this is a sensitive subject, but that doesn’t keep him from staring in the darkness for a long time after Eskel’s breaths have slowed and deepened, troubled by this new facet of the two men he loves.

Geralt’s reaction makes more sense now, why he would act so uncomfortable around Eskel and Jaskier now that the two of them are a thing. If Geralt still has feelings for his friend, then… seeing Jaskier, the man he hates and despises, whom he holds responsible for his every trouble (quite unfairly, in Jaskier’s opinion, but still), taking his place in the arms of the man he’s been in love with for longer than the bard has been alive… well, Jaskier can understand why he’d be upset.

There’s just a tiny bit of pettiness coming from the selfish, ugly part of him, that sings at the idea. Geralt broke his heart on that mountain top, isn’t it simple justice that Jaskier breaks his heart in turn?

But that line of thought is quickly smothered by guilt, and, more upsettingly, love. He’s loved Geralt for half his life now. No matter how hurt he might be, all he wants is for him to be happy. Or as happy as a self-loathing Witcher can be.

And it’s so obvious that Eskel loves him, too, now that Jaskier thinks about it. There’s a softness in his eyes and the corner of his mouth when he looks at Geralt that isn’t there when he’s around anyone else, an ease and a trust that Jaskier used to attribute to long term friendship but can only come from two bodies knowing each other intimately.

Jaskier can’t put himself between the two of them, can’t bear the idea of robbing both men of the little happiness they can find in a world that doesn’t accept them. And if he was Geralt, he would probably let Eskel down gently, taking himself out of the way and hoping the other two would get their shit together and talk, but he’s not, and if there’s a way that the three of them can find even a little satisfaction in this mess, then he’s going to try his best and make it happen.

He only hopes Geralt will listen to him.

*

It takes him a few days to work up the courage to approach the sullen White Wolf, and then another two to catch him alone, one night after dinner.

Unsurprisingly, he finds him in the stables, brushing down a Roach who seems more interested in nipping at Scorpion’s flanks than in the brooding Witcher in her stall. A wave of fondness overcomes Jaskier at the familiar sight, and he has to shake himself to remember what he’s come here to do.

“Geralt,” he says, softer than he intended. The Witcher doesn’t startle, but he tenses visibly, his grip on the brush turning white-knuckled. Jaskier lets out a trembling sigh, his resolve the only thing keeping him from turning away and finding shelter in Eskel’s arms to cry his heartache away. “We need to talk.”

Geralt doesn’t gratify him with an answer, like maybe if he ignores Jaskier long enough the bard will go away. How he didn’t learn that doesn’t work in the twenty years they’ve known each other, Jaskier has no idea.

“It’s about Eskel.” That, at least, has the merit to catch Geralt’s attention, the Witcher turning his head just enough to peek at Jaskier from the corner of his eye.

“He told me, about… about the two of you. What you were to each other.”

Geralt sucks in a harp breath. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

And Jaskier can see this is a lie even with the Witcher turning his back to him. His heart clenches, for his best friend, despite everything that happened, and his lover, who have not allowed themselves to have what they both so visibly crave. “It does, though. It does matter. I’m not… I have no wish to keep you from each other, Geralt. I… I love him.” Jaskier chokes out, and something painful flashes in Geralt’s eyes. “And I… I…” he almost lets himself say it, bare his heart for Geralt to see, but he’s gotten too used to protecting himself, to hiding his most shameful truth. “I know you do, too.”

Geralt hangs his head between his shoulders, face hidden in the shadows, the warm, low light of the oil lamp he brought with him playing in his pale hair. “You’re making him happy. The two of you… you’re good, together. I am glad you found each other.”

“Are you really, Geralt? Because you’ve been avoiding us for weeks. It’s hurting him.” It’s hurting me, Jaskier doesn’t say, because none of this is about him. “Listen, I… I know you don’t want anything to do with me, I got that loud and clear, but if there’s a way… for us three to… to find satisfaction, then maybe…”

“Speak plainly, bard.”

Jaskier exhales, nerves making his throat tight. “You know I don’t believe in exclusive relationships,” and Geralt doesn’t, either; Yennefer and him both had lovers on the side, it was no secret between them. “If you and Eskel wanted to… start again where you left things, I see no issue with that. I want him to be happy, too. I… I want you to be happy, Geralt. You’re still important to me, even after everything.”

He’s said more than he wanted to, and Geralt doesn’t even deign to look at him. That’s so familiar it hurts. Jaskier smiles, an ugly thing full of regrets and unspoken words, and turns on his heels. He’s done his part. It’s up to Geralt to make a choice, now.

“Jaskier,” a broken voice says as a hand wraps around his wrist. He startles, and turns to find Geralt watching him with pleading eyes. It’s such an absurd sight, it leaves him speechless for a minute, and Geralt takes it as an encouragement to speak. The Witcher clears his throat. “I don’t… You’re…” the way he interrupts himself in obvious frustration, brow furrowed and lips thinned, is almost endearing. “You’re important to me, too.”

Tears swell in Jaskier’s eyes, and he tugs at his wrist to free it. Geralt lets him go without resistance.

“Please don’t lie to me, Geralt. I can take the hurt, I can take the rejection. But I won’t take the pity.” He almost spits the last sentence, and a surge of bitter satisfaction warms his painful heart at Geralt’s flinch.

“I’m not, I swear. I… I’ve missed you, Jask, I’ve missed you so much.” His voice is husky, weighed by shame and regret, and Jaskier has no doubt he is saying the truth. Geralt is a lot of things, but a good actor is not one of them. “There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought about what I said to you after the dragon hunt. None of it was true, I… I was furious, but it wasn’t your fault. I’m so sorry.”

When Jaskier let himself dream of this moment, while walking down of the mountain or in the dark of the cell the Nilfargiaans kept him in, he’d imagined how he’d make Geralt grovel, how he’d tell him about every little thing Jaskier had ever done for him, to make his life easier, to show him how he could find happiness even on the Path.

As it is, Jaskier only stares at Geralt for a few seconds before tugging him into a crushing embrace. “Fuck, I’ve missed you too, you stupid Witcher.”

Geralt makes a wounded noise but lets himself be engulfed in Jaskier’s arms, tucking his nose in the hollow of his throat. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, warm breath humid against the bard’s skin. “I wanted to come looking after you, but I had to make sure Ciri was safe…”

“I am glad you did,” Jaskier says, petting the hair at the nape of Geralt’s neck. “But why didn’t you say anything once Yennefer brought me to you? Geralt, we climbed up those damn mountains together. It’s been two months since we’ve been here. I thought you didn’t… that you didn’t want me here.”

Hands twist in the back of Jaskier’s thick woolen cape. “I didn’t know how to. While we were still on the Path I was worried about Nilfgaard catching up to us, about keeping Ciri and you fed and safe, and I thought this could wait until we were here. But then…” Geralt makes a frustrated noise so familiar it has Jaskier smiling in the crown of his head.

“Words were hard to find?”

He feels more than he sees Geralt’s nod. “And once you and Eskel became… involved, you seemed so much happier. I thought I’d only make things worse, and that you deserved to move on. To… forget about me. But I do want you here, Jaskier. If I had any right to it, I’d want you by my side always.”

A breath catches in Jaskier's throat, and tears prick at the corner of his eyes. Those are words he's dreamt of hearing for so many years, and he's finally hearing them now, in a stable smelling of horseshit and hay. It's so simple, so mundane, and yet he can barely bring himself to believe this is truly happening.

And maybe it's because he is stunned, or maybe because he's done hiding, but suddenly it feels so important that he says the truth.

"Geralt, you… you must know…" he pulls back, putting just enough distance between them that he can see Geralt's suspiciously red-rimmed eyes, that he can see how the Witcher reacts to his words. "I would have followed you anywhere, until my feet could carry me no more. You know that, right? I've never been subtle," he laughs wetly. Geralt is looking increasingly confused, like he has no idea what Jaskier is talking about, and that just doesn't make sense.

Making a frustrated sound, Jaskier twists his hands in the lapels of Geralt's thick winter coat, tugging him forward slowly so the Witcher can stop him if he wants.

But he doesn't, and their lips meet, harshly enough that Jaskier hopes it'll carry his meaning even through Geralt's thick skull.

It must work, because next thing he knows, he is being ravished quite thoroughly by an enthusiastic Witcher, a hand at the back of his head and another at the small of his back, under the hem of his cape. A thumb rubs circles at the base of his spine, and he's slowly melting into a puddle of contentment, his only thought a constant stream of this is happening, oh my fucking gods this is happening.

There's little time for the realization to set in, though, as a draft of cold wind fills the stables, and a soft "oh" pushes Jaskier and Geralt to separate.

Just outside of the circle of light cast by the oil lamp, Eskel stands watching them, eyebrows drawn up in surprise. Jaskier's guts clench in guilt and he steps away from Geralt hurriedly. "Eskel, it's not-" what you think, he doesn't finish, because that is a lie, and Eskel deserves better than lies.

But there's little else Jaskier can say to justify how Eskel just found him, kissing his best friend and former lover passionately in the middle of the night, when he should have been back in their shared bed an hour ago.

He knew he'd fuck up somehow. That's so classic.

The three of them are silent for a heartbeat, the horses shifting in their stalls the only noise in the cramped space, and Jaskier wants to cross the space between Eskel and him so badly, but he knows he doesn't have the right to, and it's killing him.

Just when his agony reaches a peak, Eskel's mouth curls at the corner, softness blooming in his eyes. "I see you've gotten your shit together," he says. " 's about time."

This is so completely out of what Jaskier expected him to say that he doesn’t manage to find a suitable answer. Surprisingly, Geralt is the one to talk next.

“I’m not going to take him from you,” he says cautiously.

“I know,” Eskel grins. “I know that if I asked you you would never even look at him again.”

Jaskier spares a glance for Geralt, and a pit opens in his gut at the acceptance he finds in his eyes.

“But that would make the three of us miserable,” Eskel adds. “And I won’t do that to Jaskier, or to you.”

“Eskel, what are you saying?” If his soft-hearted Witcher is suggesting what Jaskier thinks he is…

“I don’t see why things between us should change, songbird, if you wished to spend some nights in Geralt’s bed. Of course, if you two want to be exclusive to each other,” the first glimmer of doubt insinuates itself in Eskel’s kind voice, but he keeps speaking bravely, “then I will not impose myself.”

“No!” Jaskier says, a little too loud, his hand shooting up to grip at Eskel’s wrist. Roach nickers irritably in her stall at the disturbance.

“I… I mean, if both you and Geralt are amenable, there is space in my bed for the two of you.”

Eskel’s dark eyebrow arches. “Don’t you mean in my bed?”

But his hand closes around Jaskier’s reassuringly, warm and soft as he looks at Geralt. “What do you say, Wolf?”

And Geralt is watching them both with equal part fear and want in his eyes, like his deepest desire is just in reach but he isn’t sure if it’s not going to burn him at the first touch. Jaskier extends his free hand, and he can feel Eskel tensing infinitesimally beside him, careful to keep a relaxed posture, but as worried as Jaskier that their white-haired Witcher is going to bolt out the door to a more familiar loneliness.

Geralt surprises them both by taking Jaskier’s hand with an air of firm resolution, crossing the space between them slowly until he stands close enough to share their warmth. Eskel raises his left hand, cupping Geralt’s jaw with infinite softness. Jaskier can see in his eyes the same pride he is feeling himself, at their white wolf’s bravery.

The air leaves Jaskier’s lungs in a rush when the two men’s lips meet like they weren’t ever meant to part. The contrast of Eskel’s golden skin against Geralt’s milky one is the most beautiful work of art he’s ever been given to see, and the tight heat in his lower belly tells him he wants to see more of it, now.

The two Witchers kiss for a long minute, Jaskier watching them with naked hunger and want, but for once not in a hurry to claim the attention back on himself. He makes an involuntary noise when Eskel nips at Geralt’s lower lip playfully, and two burning golden gazes turn on him. It’s so intense, so heavy, that another breath leaves Jaskier with a wheeze. A grin is spreading on Eskel’s handsome features, and Geralt’s eyes sparkle with interest.

“What do you think, Wolf? Do you think the two of us will be enough to satisfy our little bard?”

And oh, Jaskier does so want them to try.

*

Jaskier often prides himself loudly and brazenly of his carnal exploits as an Oxenfurt student and travelling bard. He’s had sex with numerous people of all genders and races, sometimes several at the same time, and has been praised for being a generous and enthusiastic lover.

Never has he been so overwhelmed after only a few minutes of foreplay.

There’s a cock down his throat and fingers in his arse and he’s trembling all over. Eskel is soothing him with a palm to his side, murmuring praise as he pushes three thick, oiled fingers to Jaskier’s prostate.

Geralt is brushing a hand down his cheek, feeling his own cock through the stretched skin. Jaskier sucks and licks with single-minded focus, moaning and wiggling when Eskel executes a particularly well-aimed thrust.

“Look at him, asking for more even when he’s stuffed full,” Eskel smugly says to Geralt as he gives a sharp slap to the bard’s arse. Jaskier yelps and jumps forward, Geralt’s cock hitting the back of his throat. He chokes and gags but doesn’t relent, breathing through his nose expertly. Geralt wipes the tears from his cheeks, the tender motion in stark contrast with his curses and animalistic grunts. It’s a contradiction Jaskier is quickly becoming addicted to.

He's so focused on his worship of Geralt's glorious cock he doesn't notice Eskel's fingers slipping out of his hole before they are replaced with the fat head of his prick. He gasps, letting Geralt's hard length slip out of his mouth, resting his temple against his hip as he breathes through the intrusion. He still hasn't gotten used to Eskel's girth, the stretch leaving him drooling and dazed every time.

They're all still as Jaskier accommodates it, testing the sensation with little clenches of his arse that have Eskel grunting and squeezing the plump flesh of his cheeks.

"'m good, you can move," Jaskier mumbles in the dip of Geralt's hip, and Eskel pulls out to execute a few shallow thrusts, getting the both of them used to the new sensations.

When he picks up speed, a hand threads in Jaskier's hair, pulling him to look up and meet a painfully tender gaze. Geralt holds him with one hand, the other grasping his own cock and guiding it back into Jaskier’s begging mouth, smearing a trail of pre-come on his cheek on the way.

It's easy to lose himself into it after that. He is full, warm and content, and he wishes he could stay that way forever, pinned between his two lovers, pleasing them with his wet mouth and his tight arse. Used for their pleasure alone.

He's only human, though, and his stamina can't compare to two Witchers'. He spills almost as soon as Eskel gets a hand on his cock, his wails muffled by Geralt's.

Geralt is caring enough to let Jaskier breathe as he comes down, cradling the bard’s face in his hands, but Eskel doesn't pull out. They've talked about each other's boundaries at length, he knows Jaskier can take more.

He's brushing his thumb where Jaskier and him are connected, hole fluttering with the last spasms of his orgasm. Jaskier whimpers at the sensation.

"Damn, you always get so loose and sloppy when you've come… do you think you could take the two of us like this?"

Jaskier's chest swells with a sob at the thought, arms trembling where they struggle to keep him up. The fingers around his jaw squeeze lightly, demanding his attention, and he meets Geralt's gaze once again.

"Answer to Eskel, pretty lark," Geralt rumbles. "Is it too much? Do you want more?"

"Yes," Jaskier manages to slur. "More, please. I want… I want both of you."

Geralt's pupils expand impossibly larger, and he bends to kiss Jaskier languidly.

He's a very thorough kisser, grunting at the taste of himself on Jaskier's tongue. Tears well up in Jaskier's eyes as emotion seizes his heart. Finally, he thinks, finally, I get to have him.

He shouts in the kiss, breaking their connection, when Eskel's thumb slips along his cock in Jaskier's hole.

The stretch is intense, even with how relaxed Jaskier is from his climax, and his arms give out, his face squashing into the mattress with a moan.

Geralt chuckles above him before gathering the weak bard into his arms, shuffling them so Jaskier is propped against his chest, while Eskel keeps opening him from behind.

It’s too warm there, pinned between his two Witchers, but Jaskier doesn’t have any complaint. Geralt resumes kissing him to distract him from the almost too intense stretch, and it works. When his breath grows too ragged, Geralt frees his lips and lets him rest his head against his shoulder for a second, lungs expanding with deep gulps of breath. Geralt and Eskel talk in hushed voices, but he can’t focus on what they’re saying, his every thought gathering around the point where he is stretched wider than he’s ever been around Eskel’s cock and fingers.

He is manhandled without difficulty, until he is straddling Geralt’s lap, Eskel still buried hilt deep in him, Geralt mouthing at his neck, two pairs of large hands roaming his sides, his back, his stomach.

“You ready, songbird?” Eskel rumbles in his ear, the low timbre of his voice piercing through the thick fog in Jaskier’s fucked out brain.

The bard nods into Geralt’s shoulder, whining pitifully.

“Did you actually manage to fuck words out of him, Eskel?” Geralt says with a hint of humour, squeezing Jaskier against him affectionately. “Might have to give you a medal for that.”

“Hm. What about a kiss?”

Jaskier smiles groggily at the sounds of intense making-out next to his ear, turning his head to admire the view. Geralt and Eskel truly are gorgeous together, skins lit by the candles, sweat beading on their foreheads, a drop rolling down the crease of one of Eskel’s scars to where his lips join Geralt’s. Their kiss is all teeth and tongue, playful and nipping, fighting for a control none of them truly cares about. It’s a sight Jaskier hopes to be graced with every day of his life from now on.

But for now, impatience is making him clench and grind around Eskel, who breaks his and Geralt’s kiss to grunt. “We haven’t forgotten about you, songbird, don’t worry.”

He cups Jaskier’s cheek in his hand to meet his lips, tasting of Geralt and himself.

There’s a new pressure at Jaskier’s entrance and he gasps in Eskel’s mouth when he realizes it’s Geralt’s cock pushing inside him. The three of them moan in unison when it gets past the ring of muscles and slides besides Eskel’s prick. They stay still, panting for a few moments, until Jaskier garbles a “move” and Eskel complies, taking the lead. Geralt, carrying most of Jaskier’s weight, is slower at the beginning, but picks up speed, moving in counterpart to Eskel, never leaving Jaskier empty even for a single second. They hit his prostate with every thrust in, overwhelming him so quickly he’s only a ragdoll between the two of them after only a few minutes of the same treatment.

Eskel and Geralt lavish his throat and shoulders with soft bites and soothing licks, meeting for a kiss over him once or twice.

Jaskier comes quickly, his cock rutting against Geralt’s toned abs, the friction barely enough to have him tip over the edge, coating the rippling muscles in thick white come. Eskel follows him rapidly, his thrusts growing erratic until he spills deep into Jaskier’s ass, whispering his name reverently in the short hair at the nape of his neck. Geralt joins them after a few more thrusts, grunting his release into Jaskier’s collarbone, goosebumps breaking over the skin of his back.

The Witchers’ softening pricks slip out of his ass and Jaskier hisses at the sudden chill of emptiness. A dribble of come drips from his sensitive hole, gaping and fluttering, and Eskel takes a sharp intake of breath at the sight, fingers coming to brush the abused flesh. Jaskier whimpers in protest, too tired to move, and Geralt shushes him with a kiss to the tip of his nose.

They bring him down to the mattress, arranging his limbs comfortably. One of them - Jaskier doesn’t open his eyes to check which - gets up and brings back a rag to clean him up and a waterskin, bullying him to drink even though all he wants is to lie down and sleep.

Finally, they all snuggle up together on the bed that is slightly too small for three grown men, the room stinking of sex.

There will be a lot to talk about, tomorrow when they wake up, but for now Jaskier buries his nose in the crook of Geralt’s neck, Eskel plastered to his back, both their hands meeting on his chest, over his slowly beating heart. Content. Warm. Jaskier drifts off with a smile on his face and a new song in his mind.

[straight-outta-kaer-morhen]

Silver & Scars <Chapter 3>

This is the fluffiest thing I’ve ever written. I guess I was in some type of mood this week? Anyways, maybe Eskel is too playful in this? Might be a bit out of character? Idk let me know what you guys think!

Chapter 3: The Drowner Contract

"Let's talk about my reward." Her lips were pulled into a coy smile. 

Eskel attempted to keep his grin at bay. It was clear she knew how Witchers worked, and found amusement in teasing him. He stepped closer to her, leaning down, his voice husky against her ear, "and what kind of reward do you seek?" 

Amber eyes watched her body involuntarily shudder. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, "a book." She breathed. "I can't seem to find a copy in Vizima." She explained. "If you ever find a copy during your travels, all I ask is that you bring it to me when you get the chance."

Eskel pulled away, surprised at the simple request, "and if I can't find it?" 

She just shrugged as she grabbed the kettle from the fire, "every year that you come back without it you'll have to spend the day with me, doing whatever I want." 

The (petite/lean/curvy) sorceress was cunning. Pulling him back to her doorstep with an innocent promise. Eskel couldn’t deny the attraction he felt for the woman, and a possible friendship with her warmed his heart. He could only imagine what kind of hoops the woman would have him jump through, but he found himself eager to please her. “Deal.”

She stuck out her small hand for him to shake, an amused smile pulled at his lips. All of his contracts refused to touch him on the account they believed him to be a monster, but here was a woman who appeared as a delicate flower standing before him eagerly waiting for the transaction to be sealed. He took her hand, and was surprised to find a firm grip. 

“Negotiating is quite the thrill.” She commented. “I think I would make a wonderful Witcher.” She teased as she turned to pour two cups of tea. 

A laugh bubbled inside Eskel’s chest, “Perhaps Vesemir will take on another trainee.” 

“Is Vesemir the head of your school?” (Y/N) inquired, leading him to two chairs in front of the fire. 

“Yes, he trained Geralt and I.” Eskel said, taking a seat across from the sorceress. 

“Geralt?”

“We grew up together. He’s like a brother to me.” Eskel explained. 

“I had brothers,” the (h/c) mused. “A long time ago.” She added.

They spent the better part of the evening in each other’s company. Neither one wanted to admit they were tired. The comfortable conversation the two had conjured was magical. Both feared that if  either stepped away it would break the chemistry the two shared. 

It was Eskel who suggested sleep when he noticed the sorceress’s drooping eyes. She had stubbornly refused, and Eskel found himself carrying the (petite/lean/curvy) woman to bed after she fell asleep in her chair. 

*

**

*

The pair had made their way to the docks early the next morning. Eskel shouldn’t have been surprised when the sorceress suggested teleporting to the swamp. The thought of teleportation made him uneasy inside. “The ferryman isn’t too expensive.” 

She thought of teasing the man, but hesitated seeing the genuine unease in his feline eyes. “I trust you to help me ashore if the boat sinks.”

“You can’t swim?” Eskel raised his brows in surprise.

“Oh I can swim...just not very good.” She admitted gazing into the dark water. 

The sun was just cresting  the hill when the two climbed into the boat. Y/N was seated across from the Witcher as the ferryman guided the rickety vessel through the water. The trip was silent, except the gentle waves that lapped the side of the boat.  

When they finally stepped onto the spongy earth of the swamps, Eskel paid the ferryman. The sorceress had occupied herself with collecting some fools parsley. Eskel was silent to approach her. He took the opportunity to bask in candid moments of the sorceress’s life. The small facial expressions she made, or the ease in which she did most things brought a warmth to the Witcher he couldn’t quite comprehend. The simple, silver embroidered tunic she wore was practical, as were the worn black boots and cloth pants. 

He’d expected an extravagant outfit when she’d met him at the foot of the stairs this morning. Yennefer and Triss always seemed to be adorning the latest fashion whenever they had wintered at Kaer Morhen, so he’d assumed she would do the same. Perhaps his knowledge of sorceresses was lacking. 

(Y/N) glanced up at him, with a soft smile. “Are you ready?” She stood up before he could reply, tucking the herbs into a pouch that hung from her belt. 

They picked their way through the swamp. The sorceress took care to avoid the many bogs that were disguised as shallow puddles. Having learned the hard way the sorceress now knew better. 

The trip through the swamp was a little slower then Eskel was used to, but in no way unpleasant. The sorceress’s legs were much shorter than his, so he understood. She managed to fill the time speaking about various books she’d recently read. Occasionally when the conversation died down, Eskel could hear her singing under her breath. 

It was around noon when the sorceress came to a stop. “It’s just over that hill.” She said, gesturing to a steeply sloping mound. A few trees were scattered along the hill, and a few patches of long stemmed grass. The mud that coated the mound would make it difficult to climb.

“Do you have a plan, or are we just going for it?” The (petite/curvy/lean) woman inquired. 

Eskel looked surprised, “you want to help?” 

A huff escaped her pout, “I didn’t trek miles into these swamps to not get my hands dirty.” She said tossing her (h/c) hair behind her shoulder. “Besides, someone has to watch your back Witcher.”

The stubborn, feisty streak that came out occasionally in the sorceress had Eskel feeling things he hadn’t felt since he was a boy. He thought he became immune to crushes long ago, but this (e/c) eyed beauty was determined to prove him wrong. “Kill as many as you can.” Was Eskel’s only comment as he began wading through the swamp to scale the slippery hill.

The sorceress was quick to follow. They crested the hill both covered in mud. There was little either could have done to avoid the muck. Eskel was about to pour some oil on his blade when a yelp escaped the sorceress. His eyes snapped up in time to see the ground give way beneath her feet. 

She was helplessly sliding down the muddy slope towards the drowners nest. There was no purchase for her to grab onto. Electricity crackled at her fingertips, she’d decided her best option would be to prepare for a fight. The drowners had come running for her as soon as they heard the sound of earth moving. She threw a bolt of lightning at the closest drowner. The air grew hot and heavy from the electric currents in the air. Thunder rumbled in the sky as she pulled a bolt down from the sky.

Eskel was surprised to see the sorceress managing so well. He felt a raindrop on his forearm. As soon as a crack of lightning came down on a drowner, the skies opened up and sheets of rain came falling down. Eskel slid down the hill on the soles of his boots. His left hand behind him kept him balanced. He threw out igni at the first drowner he came across. Quickly lopping its head off. 

He soon found himself fighting next to the sorceress. Her sopping clothes clung to her skin, and something behind her eyes crackled with life. “You look magnificent.” Eskel commented signing Igni at a group of drowners.

A chuckle escaped her as she brought down another strike of lightning, “you’re rather impressive yourself.” 

With a final stroke of his sword the drowners were dispatched. The two made their way over to the nest. Eskel lit a grape shot tossing it into the middle of the nest. “Back up.” Eskel said instinctively, grabbing her hand pulling her away from the nest straight into his arms. 

He could feel the energy still crackling under her skin, and her eyes had turned smoldering as he tilted her chin up to him. He leaned down, hesitating a moment, but she stood on her tiptoes to guide him to her lips. 

Her lips were cold from the rain, but he was pleasantly surprised at how passionately she kissed. Any doubts or insecurities he may have had were put to rest. There wasn’t a thing she’d rather be doing, as she took her time exploring his mouth. 

The snap of a twig was all he heard. Eskel quickly shoved the sorceress behind him, his silver blade already in his hand. A bloedzuiger has emerged from the murky pool. The sound of the grapeshot going off had drawn the monster to them. 

“Run.” Eskel said flatly, backing up from the monster keeping the sorceress behind him. By the Witcher’s tone she did not hesitate to obey. She scrambled up the hill, out of the Witcher’s way. She’d never come across this type of monster in the swamp and had no knowledge of what the monster was capable of.

It looked terrifying; sharp teeth ringed its mouth, and long needle claws swiped at Eskel. The dark haired Witcher was quick on his feet. Using igni and his silver blade in unison. The way he dodged, and striked looked like a dance to the (short/moderate/tall) woman. 

Eskel’s silver blade sank deep into the monster’s flesh. It appeared that the fight was over. In the blink of an eye the monster exploded into a mist of lizard green acid. “Eskel!” The sorceress cried, slipping down the muddy slope, running as fast as her legs could carry her. 

She found him laying face down in the mud. She fell to her knees to check for any signs of life when two strong arms shot out wrapping around her waist, pulling her down into the mud with him. She let out a startled squeak, as he rolled on top of her planting a kiss right on her lips. He broke the kiss as chuckles rumbled through his body. Dark hair tickled her cheeks as she peered up at his feline eyes. 

“I cannot believe you!” She cried. “Making me think you were dead, and then basting me in mud.” She propped herself up on her elbows, “don’t think your boyish charm is going to get you out of this on-“ he cut her off with his lips. 

Her mind went blank at the feel of his full lips. The unabashed kisses came as a bit of a shock to the sorceress. He’d been so guarded the first time they met, and one kiss was all it took for the man to open up. The kiss was over too quickly, “please let me teleport us to a bathtub.” The sorceress muttered inspecting her mud soaked clothes. 

Eskel chuckled, pulling her to her feet, “you’ll get used to it.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, “I take that as a no to the teleportation to a bath.” 

“No to the teleportation.” He said, leaning closer to murmur in her ear, “I never said no to the bath.” 

The sorceress turned red as she watched the departing Witcher. She knew he had a smug look on his face. He knew exactly how to push her buttons. “You coming?” He asked turning, walking backwards a few steps waiting for her to catch up. 

“You’re helping me up this hill.” She stated, as he graciously held out his hand to pull her up the steep slope. 

The trek back through the swamp was slower than before. The sorceress was miserable in her wet boots, and she could tell the Witcher was fairing the same. 

Twilight had hit when the two finally reached Y/N’s home. “I’ll heat up the water.” Y/N said walking up the stairs. Eskel followed a bit slower taking in the various artwork that hung on the wall. Y/N had already stripped herself of her boots when Eskel leaned against the wooden bathing screen. “Rose hip, or lemon verbena?” She inquired, studying two glass bottles. “Lemon.” She muttered to herself pouring a generous amount in the empty tub. 

“Would you fill the tub?” She inquired, as she grabbed some more soap. The cauldron was awkward, as Eskel poured the water in the tub. He placed the empty cauldron over the fire where it hung. Y/N had started to undress when Eskel brushed her hair aside, his voice husky in her ear, “allow me.”

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