#esklamb?

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Hey 😊 Hope you're doing okay in these troubling times. I saw your inbox is open for witcher requests. How about a soft Jaskier x wolf pack where Eskel feels really self conscious about the scars on his face and Jaskier, Geralt and Lambert show him just how much they love him regardless? Can be fluffy or smutty (or both, whichever you're more comfortable writing). I'm just a sucker for soft Eskel ♥️

Ugh Eskel deserves so much love <3 Thank you for this prompt! CW for self-loathing and consciousness about one’s scars Contains some spoilers for tw1 regarding Deidre and Eskel’s story

He ran a calloused palm down the side of his face until it obscured the jagged river of scars that cut from just above his eyebrow to his chin. It wasn’t like he was the only Witcher with scars. Geralt had his- unmistakable over his left eye and cutting over his forehead, and of course Lambert had his set of scars crossing his right eye not unlike Eskel’s. But Lambert’s, Geralt’s were from monsters. Part of the job. Come winter Geralt and Lambert would show off new scars in the hot springs, bragging about their latest kill. Eskel’s scar held no such pride. 

After all, he could never be as good a father as Geralt. When Geralt brought Ciri to Kaer Morhen, Eskel couldn’t help a heavy pang of guilt thinking of his own abandoned Child Surprise. The girl he tried so hard to avoid, who he wanted so badly not to ever have to take responsibility for. Was this scar destiny’s way of punishing him for ignoring her for so long? He never knew what became of Deidre after that terrible night. So filled with blood, with terrible memories. She had tried to reach out to him, just once, but he had been too filled with bitterness and pain to requite. He burned her letter without opening the seal. He felt that fire severed the last bond that tied him to Deidre, but he’d always wear the scar to remind him. 

-

It should have been a clean cut. But combined with his Child Surprise’s frightened and shaky hand, and Lambert’s shitty stitching, it came out ragged and more akin to a disfigurement than a battle scar. Lambert didn’t really apologize- he didn’t do apologizing- but when Vesemir pulled out the stitches the youngest wolf winced and told him (with the tension of lies in his voice) that it didn’t look half bad.

Eskel took one look in a mirror and decided it looked full bad. 

He spent the rest of his life shying away from mirrored surfaces, withstanding shocked and disgusted looks from whores and contractors alike, and having to deal with the unspoken pity of his brothers when they came home every winter. Eventually, though, they seemed to forget. As if that scar had always been there. It felt nice, not to be looked at with horror. 

There was one time, though, that Lambert came to him after a night of light drinking and stood before him with a pained look as if he was being slowly gutted. Being emotionally vulnerable was always hard for the little wolf. 

“Just so you know,” Lambert forced out. “I think it looks badass.”

Eskel blinked at him. “What does?”

“Your-” he gestured at Eskel’s face. “My ugly fucking stitching, it looks cool. Like a burn scar. I dunno, just thought you should know. Isn’t as bad as you think.”

“Thank you, Lambert, but I don’t-”

“Shut up, man. Don’t make this weird,” Lambert said, as if Eskel was the one making this weird. “You’re always touchin’ your face when you’re anxious and I don’t think you know how it really looks. Intimidating, like you could kill a man just by staring at him too hard. Looks like a battle scar.”

Eskel flushed bright red. He wasn’t lying. His voice was loose, truthful. “I appreciate that.” He murmured, and Lambert scowled. 

“Don’t think I’m getting soft on you, bastard. I’m still kicking your ass in training tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t expect any less, Lamb.”

-

He still thought he was a monster.

Until Jaskier came along.

Jaskier laid eyes on him and Eskel readied himself for shock. For revolt. For the stench of fear and sick that wafted off of everyone around him but went unspoken and unsaid. Jaskier, instead, smelled sweet as honeysuckle and smiled at him so bright he could outshine the sun. 

By then, he had worked out his feelings with Lambert and Geralt. The three of them cared for each other more than just companions, more than just fellow wolves. The word love was scary and difficult to say, but they all thought it. They all meant it. 

Jaskier came late to the relationship but attached himself to the three of them nonetheless and absolutely showered them in love. Eskel was not exempt.

The bard cornered Eskel in the courtyard while he was taking a break from practicing on his own. Jaskier sat himself down beside the wolf, took his face in his deft hands, and stared at him. 

“Jaskier?” Eskel asked softly, wishing to pull away and out of his gaze. He didn’t want to be so seen. 

“Eskel.” His little bird responded brightly, still examining Eskel’s face in awe. 

“What are you doing?”

“You’re a work of art.”

Oh, okay, Eskel was going to melt. 

“C’mon, Jask, speak plainly.” He chided softly, looking away from Jaskier’s soft blue eyes. 

“Okay. You’re pretty.” He said simply, diving forward to kiss the tip of the wolf’s nose. “You’re pretty here,” he kissed his left cheek. “And here,” his forehead. “Here,” over one eye. “And here.” Upon his scar. 

“It’s not pretty, sweetheart. It’s... violent.” He tried to brush off his little bird’s love-laden compliments. 

“Nonsense. I love every bit of you, scarred, not scarred...” Jaskier leaned even closer and he could feel his warm breath against his cheek. “You’re very strong to wear your scar so bravely. My pretty boy.”

Yeah, Eskel was lovestruck.

-

Geralt didn’t use words often. That was okay. Eskel liked the silence. 

The white wolf had Eskel’s head in his lap as he read and he was thumbing through his hair, scratching gently as his scalp and quirking his lips in a smile whenever Eskel would emit a low purr.

He worked his fingers over the nape of Eskel’s neck, where he made the loudest rumbling noises, and then over his shoulder-blades where he worked out tight knots and tension from hunting and fighting all year. 

“Turn over, dear heart.” Geralt prompted. “I want to see your face.”

Eskel complied. He blinked a little as he stared up at Geralt, smiling all soft and sweet- and it reminded Eskel of the first time they’d kissed. Geralt had the best smile. 

Geralt’s thumb brushed over Eskel’s scar unexpectedly and he startled, freezing up and turning his head away. 

“I’m sorry.” Geralt said instantly, taking his hand away and setting it on his lap instead. “Do you need me to stop?”

Eskel didn’t want that. He’d been startled, is all. He craved that kind of tender touch. 

“No, do it again, but slow.”

And he did. He traced up and down Eskel’s scar, over his eyebrow and then back down to his chin. Eskel purred. Geralt mapped out every blemish and torn pieces of skin as fragile as glass, like he were brushing his fingers over a priceless statue. Worshipped his flawed features like he were beautiful. And maybe, Eskel thought as he closed his eyes and let himself sink into the contentedness of being loved, maybe if his lovers saw him this way... maybe his scar wasn’t so bad after all.