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dapandapod · 2 years

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Scent of spring

*Obi wan kenobi voice* Hello there! Turns out writers block wasn't as done with me as I thought xDD but I'm fighting it!! So this is a piece written for an a/b/o event we are doing at @thepassifloradiscord, because fun, and there is just something about courting that is just so kdkdfjf. Yes, I'm ok, thank you for asking. So please enjoy this little thing, where Eskel is not enjoyin spring!

Here on Ao3

It’s been pouring down for fucking days.

Spring is the absolute worst, Eskel thinks to himself as he trudges along muddy roads toward his usual inn.

Not only because of the shitty weather, but also because of all the monsters approaching their mating season, because of the more than abundant pollen, because stupid Jaskier who doesn’t realize Eskel has been courting him for months.

He probably could have been clearer, but Eskel really thought that Jaskier would have picked up on it by now.

The flowers, clearly coded in flower language to express his feelings for Jaskier.

The gift, meant to show his feelings for Jaskier in physical form. The silk shirt, to prove that he could provide for his intended mate. The hand holding, to show that he would always be a bastion of safety, warmth and love for his chosen.

Eskel had felt especially brave about the hand holding, as it is not something witchers do, do they?

But Jaskier had beamed, laced their fingers together and pressed up against his arms, so what was he to think?

When they had said their goodbyes before the winter, he had angled Jaskier’s chin up and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

And Jaskier had looked so dumbfounded, so gobsmacked, that Eskel had turned tail and ran.

Not the wisest move, he admits to himself, but given the way Jaskier had smiled at him and held his hand... Eskel is simply a man.

A drenched man right now, as he stomps through the puddles with Scorpion at his side.

Fucking mud, fucking rain, Scorpion needs to go to the ferrier to replace a shoe that disappeared somewhere two days ago.

Most likely when they were running away from a nest of agitated nekkers, and there is no going back for it.

There is only an hour left until he reaches the inn.

The letters he had picked up after he made it down that blasted mountain were mostly from Jaskier, writing about missing him, and where they would meet in the upcoming spring.

Which reminds him. Another bad thing with spring is his Rut. It usually hits during the late winter/early spring, just in time for him to make it down the mountain and find a whorehouse, or an incubus, or a succubus, or whatever.

There is just no way of telling exactly when it'll come.

It doesn’t feel right to meet Jaskier just as it starts, like bad manners, but his body is intent on betraying him.

If he didn’t know better, he would suspect that his Rut is purposely holding out until they meet.

Which would mean either running off or dealing with it together.

And Eskel doesn’t want Jaskier to feel obligated, or like Eskel is assuming things will happen.

Despite the rain, he can smell the smoke from the chimneys from down the road. Maybe less than an hour, then.

Daylight is slowly fading when Eskel reaches the outskirts of the village.

The inn sits at the crossroads, the little dirt courtyard in front of the stable lined with a rickety fence. There is already light in the windows, and a teenager runs up to meet him and Scorpion when he approaches.

“Is there a farrier in town?” he asks, tossing the boy a copper when he grabs Scorpion’s reins. “Don’t touch his hindlegs, by the way,” he warns.

Eskel almost feels bad about leaving the boy with his stallion, but there is a restlessness twisting in his bones.

From inside, he can hear the strumming of a lute, sense Jaskier’s scent in the air. Warm and spicy, familiar and safe and enticing.

The boy stammers out a “Yes, master witcher,” and Eskel is moving. He walks towards the inn's door and slips inside quietly so as to not disturb the performance.

Jaskier sits upon a chair in the corner, where the floor is slightly elevated. From the look of the crowd, Eskel is not the only traveler seeking cover as there are but a few tables free at the front.

There is no fucking way Eskel is going to sit in front of the stage. So by the wall he stands, until a table further back vacates. He orders a serving of tonight's dinner and two ales.

When Jaskier notices him, a secret smile graces his lips, his content scent spiking.

“I’m afraid this will be my last song for tonight, fair folk,” Jaskier informs the tavern, strumming up a gentle tune, eyes lingering on Eskel.

His dinner arrives and he promptly forgets about it, held captive by Jaskier's every word. By a song about hoping, about searching.

The sweet gesture of a daisy tucked lovingly behind your ear.

The soul-warming sensation of a hand in yours.

A kiss given when parting is inevitable.

There is thin applause when he finishes up, and Eskel can do nothing but stare when Jaskier packs up and approaches his table.

“Hi you,” he says quietly, smiling down at him.

“Hi yourself,” Eskel manages. “I uh… bought you a drink.”

“Such a gentleman,” Jaskier says, stealing Eskel’s drink anyway, eyes gleaming over the rim of the mug. “Did you find a room yet?”

“Was told it was fully booked.”

“Then stay in mine,” Jaskier offers. Tension builds between them now, much stronger than in the past. “You are absolutely drenched. Eat up so we can head upstairs and get you dried off.”

They make their way up to Jaskier’s room after Eskel finishes his meal. The cold is starting to get to him, at long last.

There is no fireplace in the room, but they make do. Eskel’s wet clothes are hung over chairs and laid out on the small table, even hanging on the lute case.

There is only one bed, but luckily, it's big enough for the two of them to sleep comfortably.

Eskel still offers to take the floor.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jaskier threatens, wagging his finger. “Witchers may not get sick, no, but they get fucking sore and you will be as grumpy as Geralt in the morning, and that is just a crime.”

Snorting, Eskel relents. Soon the candle is blown out and they have settled in on each side of the bed.

They lie quietly next to each other, Eskel staring up at the ceiling.

“Uhm. That last song you sang…” Eskel says. daring to break the silence, and Jaskier turns his head to look at him. “That was about us?”

“You noticed.” Jaskier smiles.

“Unlike you,” Eskel teases.

When Jaskier doesn’t say anything for a long moment, Eskel grows nervous.

“Eskel... Were you courting me?”

The witcher blinks and his heart sinks.

“I was. Am. But if I read it all wrong, if you're not interested, I can stop,” Eskel offers quietly.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Jaskier threatens, turning on his side to face him. He reaches for Eskel’s hand. Their fingers lace together like they haven't spent the entire winter season apart. “But maybe this time, I’ll court you back?”

A kiss is pressed to the back of his hand, and Eskel can't stop the ache in his chest. His entire being screams mate, but he is in no hurry. None at all.

“I would like that.”

They end up curled around each other.

Eskel presses his lips to the back of Jaskier’s neck, a hand against his chest, nestled under his sleeping tunic.

The trust that Jaskier displays baring himself like this, makes Eskel hold him tighter, press him closer. One day he might put a mark there.

Pressing a kiss to the nape of Jaskier’s neck, he spreads his hand wider. He feels greedy, wanting more when he is allowed so much already.

But there is more to talk about, more topics to discuss.

For now, Eskel is more content than he has been in years. The sweet smell of Jaskier, his heartbeat under Eskel’s palm.

Maybe spring isn’t so bad after all.

#jaskel #a/b/o #fluff #courting #oblivious jaskier #jaskier/eskel #jaskier x eskel #the witcher #alpha!eskel #omega!jaskier #dapanda writes

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spilledbutter · 1 year

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shining in your light (a knight, my love, a knight)

Summary: Jaskier's days as a single man are numbered. With family obligations knocking at the door and no escape in sight, he knows he will soon be forced to marry.

Things are further complicated when he meets a beautiful, brown-haired witcher by chance in a tavern one night.

Jaskier/Eskel | Rated: M | WC: 3k+ | CW: coarse language, implied sex

A (very) belated Witcher Writers Winter Gift Exchange 2022 (@witcherficwriters) fill for @matrixfairy! I hope you enjoy, friendo, and sorry it's so late!

Also on AO3! I anticipate at least two more chapters, if not three, to finish everything up.

When he was younger, Jaskier imagined life to be a fairytale.

Grand adventures, beasts to be slain, and knights in shining armor.

“Yeeugh,” the man groaned out from the tavern floor where he’d stumbled before him, covered in mud and smelling of horse dung.

Real life never was quite like he imagined it would be.

“I’m so sorry, are you alright?” Jaskier’s hands fluttered uselessly in front of him, wanting to help but not quite sure if the other man was injured. He hastily put aside his tankard of ale and lute.

“Sir? Can I help you with anything?” He called when he received no reply. It took a moment, but the man finally raised his head, turning surprisingly keen, golden eyes on Jaskier. He’d thought he was dealing with a drunkard.

He knew he should feel exposed, perhaps intimidated, under such a sharp gaze. Jaskier had never been prone to the reactions of normal people, however, so he felt nothing of the sort.

Surprisingly, he only felt warm, heat pricking his collar.

Warmer still, as he took notice of the strong jaw, full lips, and long lashes cradling those honeyed irises. His eyes scanned over a set of broad shoulders, topping off a barrel chest, and what he was sure were delectable abs underneath a ruby-colored gambeson.

Covered in mud he may be, but a pig he was not.

“You talkin’ to me, pretty thing?” The rumbling, rich baritone shook him out of his stupor. Jaskier planted a charming grin on his face, casually running his hand over his chin in a thoughtful pose to check for drool. Gods above.

“Ah, but the man does speak! Are you sure you’re alright?”

The other man sat up, leaning against the wall. “Just peachy,” he grunted, leaning his elbows on his knees. “No need to worry, pretty thing. My kind are made for a bit of wear and tear.”

Shit. And a smile meant to break a man’s heart, to boot.

Well. Jaskier had never been one to resist a pretty face.

“Can I help you? Buy you an ale, maybe?”

The grin turned devilish, topaz eyes shimmering with mischief. “Aye, and a bowl of stew if you’re going to bed me,” he winked. “Probably need the energy. You seem like a wild one.”

Jaskier flushed, shocked and pleased all in one. He returned the wink with a provocative smile of his own. “A gentleman never tells, my dear.”

He held out a hand. A little flirtation did not an acquaintance make. Jaskier was no fool, either.

Two swords on his back. Heavy traveling cloak, worn at the hem and tattered. Scarring on his face and forearms - from some beast or other, no doubt.

A witcher. Very interesting indeed.

Those discerning eyes stared him down, assessing, before seeming to make a decision. A strong hand clasped Jaskier’s own.

He pulled the other man up with only a little effort and noted the surprise on the witcher’s face. He felt no small amount of pride. He didn’t have a witcher’s bulk, but he wasn’t a small man by any means.

Now that he was standing, Jaskier took full stock of the other man’s form. His new friend had about three inches on him and at least a hundred pounds. Jaskier felt a pleasant tingle run down his spine. It was rare he met a delicious man like this on accident.

“Jaskier,” he announced in his most imperious voice with a courtly, sweeping bow. “At your service.”

The other man quirked his lips, amused. “Eskel.”

Jaskier felt giddy. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Eskel. I believe I promised you an ale?”

That lovely half-smile doubled in size. “Aye. I believe you did.”

###

There wasn’t much talking after they went upstairs. Jaskier’s rented room was small, the bed smaller, but it would do the job.

“Darling,” Jaskier purred once the door was shut, “That armor is quite dashing, but I have to say you’re a tad overdressed.”

Eskel’s warm body pressed against his with a mouthwatering pressure. With the wall at his back and the absolute boulder of a man at his front, he’d never felt happier about being cornered. A rough hand grasped his jaw, calloused thumb brushing against his bottom lip.

“Pretty words from a pretty mouth,” Eskel rumbled in his deep baritone. Golden eyes bored into Jaskier’s own, pinning him with their intensity. “D’you sing just as sweetly?”

Jaskier smirked wolfishly, wrapping his arms firmly around Eskel’s neck. “I’m sure you’ll find out.”

A husky chuckle, followed by a throaty moan. And then the night was silent.

###

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open, moonlight filtering through the tiny inn window.

He quietly took stock of the pleasant soreness in his limbs, aches in places which meant he’d had a very good night indeed. It took a few moments for him to become aware of the hard chest beneath his ear, carpeted with smattering of dark hair.

He came fully into awareness, remembering his night with Eskel and feeling a goofy smile bloom across his face. He was almost too comfortable using the witcher as a pillow. He would be perfectly content to lounge around until Eskel woke up. Maybe convince him to go for another round… But loathe as he was to move, he knew he needed to get back home.

As quietly as possible, he disentangled himself from the body below him. He dressed in silence, distinctly aware of every swish and rustle of fabric making their way to sharp witcher ears. He put on just enough clothing to be decent for the trek back, not wanting to delay any further.

Jaskier looked back at the man on the bed. He truly had the body of a god, looked absolutely delectable with a sheet just barely covering his exquisite cock. Blessedly, he’d had the skills in bed to match, which Jaskier was quite thankful for.

He looked oddly vulnerable, soft brown curls falling into his eyes and face lax with sleep. The moon’s rays danced across his striking features and made his tanned skin glow. He was the picture of inviting.

He was beautiful. It was a shame this was only for a night.

“May our paths cross again, Eskel,” he spoke softly.

Jaskier slipped out the door, unaware of the witcher watching him leave.

###

His nightly outings were becoming more common the closer he got to his impending doom. Since he’d passed his twenty-first birthday, Jaskier knew he was living on borrowed time. He knew his father would make things as unpleasant as possible.

Men of the Pankratz family were honor-bound to marry by the end of their twenty-first year. If they had not made a match by this time, a match would be arranged for them by the head of the household. The legend (or so he was told, although it all sounded like horse shit) went that were this rule not met, a curse would befall their house and lands, blighting all who lived within them.

Or something. He’d never really paid attention during his governess’s lessons, dreadfully boring woman that she was.

But he was damned sure everyone in his house believed in the legend. Without a doubt, he’d be turned out on his ass for the first respectable gentleperson that came calling for him. He was under no illusions that his father had his best interests at heart–far from it, in fact. The sooner they’d be rid of him, the better.

Nothing like a parent’s love, eh?

He bitterly chuckled to himself as he stepped into the shadowed gardens below his quarters. Right turn at the archway. Left at the lavender bushes. Two steps and a hop across the charming little pond with the frogs he’d played with as a child. Now just a shimmy up the trellis to his open window and he’d be home free.

He should really look into doing this professionally. He’d make an excellent spy.

Jaskier crested the windowsill, feet on the warmed stone floors. The embers of the fire were still hot in the hearth, no doubt stoked by his diligent valet. let out a yawn, feeling his eyes start to droop.

“I imagine I’d be tired too, after an acrobatics routine like that.”

He jumped about a foot in the air. He did not shriek, thank you very much.

“Jana, you witch!” He hissed, blue eyes blazing. “Perhaps I should put a bell on you!”

She smirked, green eyes glinting maliciously. “And where would be the fun in that?”

She was the devil incarnate. Evil in the flesh. He loved her to pieces.

“Sister dear,” he hummed, stepping towards his wardrobe. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just checking on my dearest Julek. Thought you might be tossing and turning tonight, is all.”

Jaskier squinted at her before turning back to his clothes. He grabbed a nightshirt and stepped behind the changing screen. “And why ever would I be restless?”

He didn’t need to see her face to know she was laughing at him. “Just a… feeling I had.”

He quickly stepped out from behind the screen, more comfortable now in his loose night clothes. He stepped towards the basin to wash his face. Jana was sitting primly on the bench, legs crossed daintily, looking serene as ever.

Something was definitely wrong.

“Oh?” He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of true curiosity. She was unbearably smug about this little talent of hers.

She got like this, sometimes. Jana was prone to feelings—no one in their family called them premonitions, per se, but it was hard to find a different word to describe them. Sometimes it was small things, like an unexpected change in the weather, but there were other times, too–like when she’d gotten a bad feeling about Aunt Margot’s cold, and she’d passed within a fortnight.

Jana hummed, noncommittal, and tossed her long, chocolate locks over her shoulder. “Something is going to happen tomorrow. Something big. And it concerns you, brother dearest.”

Jaskier didn’t respond, mind racing. He schooled his features, maintaining the indifferent mask he’d learned as a son of the peerage. The tournament tomorrow was for the benefit of the Pankratz House. It didn’t, however, directly impact Jaskier in any notable way–not more than it would impact them all.

“We shall see, I suppose. Now, if you don’t mind,” he pointedly shuffled towards his bed, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he passed. “I need my beauty rest.”

He’d turned down the covers and was just about to snuff the light when Jana approached him, ruffling his hair. He huffed. She turned away toward the door with a smile.

“Indeed we shall, little brother. Tomorrow.”

###

The morning dawned bright, trumpets and birdsong intermingling with the fresh dew. The sunlight was dappled through the trees in the clearing and the air smelled of late spring blossoms.

It was far too fine a day for such nonsense.

“Hark! Hear ye, hear ye! On this day commences the Tournament of Koselig, attended only by the most honorable of knights and lords!”

The opening speeches were always dull as watching paint dry. The Pankratz family was seated in the box with the best view of the action at the head of the field. He was expected to smile and nod as the competitors passed their box, acknowledging the brave souls fighting and potentially losing life and limb. All for the sake of their entertainment–and today, the dubious honor of ruling the shittiest parcel in the province.

It made him sick, to be honest.

“You don’t suppose we could slip out after the announcements, do you? I’m sure Vincent could be convinced to cover for us with the right motivation.” He winked at Jana, earning a giggle in return.

“You know we can’t, Julek. Besides–I really do have a good feeling about today. Something important is going to happen, I just know it.”

Her feelings were not to be dismissed. It was sure to be an eventful day, for one reason or another. He just hoped it wasn’t at his expense.

“Jana, Julian, do be quiet. Where are your manners?” His mother tutted, one elegant brow arched. She was the spitting image of his sister, with a few more lines around her eyes and streaks of gray through her hair.

“Apologies, mother. I seem to have forgotten my patience today,” Jaskier smiled sweetly. “Must these things be so terribly tedious?”

“It would do you well to watch your tongue, Julian. Comes with the territory. A Viscount is expected to behave and attend events such as this.”

“Only a Viscount in name, father. Don’t you worry–you’ll never have to bless me with more responsibility than that with our dear Jana here.”

The tension between father and son was palpable. Jana discretely squeezed his hand in support.

Jaskier’s relationship with his father had never been the greatest, but they had reached an all-time low recently. He felt like he was on a tightrope, closer and closer to falling to the brink as each day passed. Who–or what–his father had in store for him was a great source of anxiety. And two of them weren’t exactly the types to have heart-to-heart chats, so his fate would inevitably be a surprise. Joy of joys.

In other circumstances, he’d be filling the gaping pit of anxiety with a glass of wine and a warm body, but alas. Duty called, as his father liked to remind him.

“We have the honor of being hosted today by the esteemed Pankratz family: the Earl Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove, Lady Maria Pankratz of Lettenhove, Lady Jana Pankratz of Lettenhove, and Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove,” the herald carried on. “The knights and lords present will compete today for the honor of overseeing one of his Lordship’s properties in Hygge, a parcel of land which…”

Jaskier found his attention drifting beyond the stands, the announcements a tiresome buzzing in the background. From the looks of it, every person in the city of Koselig had turned out for the event, and probably the neighboring cities too. They were practically giving away a prize today, wrapped up in a neat, entertaining package and decorated with a ball. It was no wonder it looked like the entirety of coastal Redania had arrived on their front lawn.

He wasn’t surprised. His parents were well-liked for their fair ruling of the lands they controlled, but they were equally liked for the lavish parties they liked to throw. It wasn’t all a front, but every event, gift, and act of service was part of a carefully calculated plan to keep the populace happy and maintain appearances.

His mother, for all that she was kind, was incredibly shrewd and good with people. She knew what would keep them happiest (and what would shut them up). His father was a strict man, committed to the principles of duty and obedience. At the same time, he wouldn’t hesitate to manipulate a situation in his favor. Jaskier loved them, but he didn’t always like them.

Hygge was a sizeable estate just shy of a week’s ride north of Jaskier’s home in Koselig. Its accompanying village was full of fishermen and farmers alike, with the coast nearby and plenty of fertile land to till. The former Lord who’d ruled over the property for the last twenty years had died two months prior. Rather unfortunately for everyone, he passed without an heir. Even more unfortunately, he had done a poor job managing things in the last five years. Much work would need to be done by the new proprietor.

His parents needed someone to manage the property and township. Jana, as heir to their family estate, had been assisting with the property in the months since the former Lord’s passing. This obviously wasn’t a long-term solution as she would take over in Koselig one day.

They had decided to select a new proprietor, ideally a knight looking to settle down or a lower member of the peerage without many responsibilities. And because his mother had a flair for dramatics, what better way to find someone willing than a tournament?

It was great marketing, he had to hand it to her. Undoubtedly, they would find someone today.

“Gentlemen! Please present yourself to the venerable Pankratz family!”

Jaskier put on his most polite and courtly smile for the introductions. One by one, the assembled lords and knights stepped up to the box. There was a Lord Valdo from Cidaris who seemed utterly obnoxious–-gods, he hoped he didn’t win. A knight from Roggeveen with a peculiar mustache. Another Lord So-and-So from Denesle who sounded absolutely drunk off his ass—that would make for a good show.

He almost fell out of his chair when he spotted a familiar red gambeson and mop of brown hair. Flashes of last night sent a rush of blood to a very unfortunate place as he locked gazes with a familiar pair of golden eyes.

Their bodies meeting in an intimate embrace. Eskel’s calloused hands gripping his hips tightly. Deep, rumbling groans as Jaskier rode him. The insatiable desire for more. And afterward, those same work-worn hands stroking soothingly down his back. Sweaty bangs tenderly brushed off his forehead. A gentle hand cleaning him up with a rough-hewn cloth. A handsome face, enhanced by scars, relaxed and sated in sleep.

Fuck. Fuck fuckity fuck fuck.

Eskel dipped into a formal bow. “Sir Eskel, Witcher of the Wolf School.”

“Ha!” His father burst out, with great amusement. “A witcher, competing in my tournament! Surely you can’t be serious.”

“Deadly so, my Lord,” Eskel’s lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes cool. Despite this, he gave no outward signs of annoyance, his posture remaining relaxed and easy.

“Oh?” His father raised an imperious brow. “And do you meet the entry requirements? One must be an established member of the peerage or a knight to compete. This isn’t a tournament for just anyone.”

“How fortunate, then,” Eskel drawled, “that I am knighted. His Royal Highness, Windhalm of Attre, knighted me four summers ago. Dealt with a rotfiend problem he was having, nasty business.”

Alfred did not say a word, but one look at his face said enough about his frustration. Eskel paid no mind.

“Convenient as well that he granted me the title Baronet of Attre, as a personal honor for my services. Still a peasant at heart and in title, but the words are pretty, yeah?”

Eskel rubbed a hand over the back of his neck in a seemingly bashful gesture. “Aye, a shame I turned the land down at the time. After all, a witcher? A proprietor? Can’t be serious.” He gave a deep belly laugh at the thought, throwing his head back. “Changed my mind, though. I’ve rather come to like the idea of settling down.”

The tension could be cut with a knife. Jaskier, his sister, his mother–hell, even the herald–all waited, staring at Alfred in suspense.

“Well then, my Lord? Do I pass the test?” The witcher gave a winning smile, the epitome of mannerly but possessing an air of cold detachment Jaskier knew his father detested. It was the same persona his father used at court.

Color crept up Alfred’s collar. Jaskier could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. He hid a smile behind his hand, biting his lip. Entertainment, indeed.

Alfred cleared his throat. “Well, Sir Eskel of the Wolf School, Baronet de Attre, it certainly seems you do. We look forward to seeing you… compete.” Alfred gave a stiff and reluctant nod, dismissing him. The moment was over.

Or, well, Jaskier thought it was.

Eskel gave his family another formal bow. His eyes met Jaskier’s with intention as he rose back to his full height. Jaskier felt his breath catch in his throat as gold met blue.

There was something there, in his gaze. A heat–not the burning kind, no, but something pleasant. Like hot cider on a winter’s night. Like a fire to warm cold bones--or an aching heart. Jaskier felt a shiver down his spine.

He felt trapped in that stare, unable to look away. He gave a coquettish smile, unable to resist his natural flirtation even for a moment, particularly with the witcher. Eskel gave a charming, boyish grin back, inclining his head deeply before turning away.

And oh, what a lovely sight he made. Although his trousers really did look better off…

“What the hell was that?” Jana hissed into his ear, breaking the spell Jaskier had fallen under.

“What was what?” Jaskier asked in his best attempt at innocence, rubbing sweaty palms against his knees.

“You know what. Do you know him?”

“We may have met before - hard to say, I meet a lot of people.”

Jana scoffed, pushing against his shoulder with her own at his non-answer. Jaskier laughed, fondly, and turned his attention back to the field.

Neither of them noticed Alfred’s piercing stare as he eyed them with suspicion.

(1/3)

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flightsfancy22 · 1 year

Text

My gift for @witcherficwriters's Winter Gift Exchange. The drawing is for the wonderful panda_spirited (BorealLights on Ao3).

Panda asked for 'winter at Kaer Morhen', 'fluff' and 'cuddling' which my brain translated into....

Jaskier convinces Eskel to take “the kids” winter camping, hoping to win over the sweet, shy Witcher’s heart.

Anyway, Panda, I hope you have a wonderful holiday season, and that 2023 brings you a lot of joy, love, and inspiration!

#winter gift exchange 2022 #witcher fanart #jaskier/eskel #jaskel #my artwork #goat dad eskel #baby goats are love #eskel my beloved

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officerjennie · 2 years

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How about 39 + Jaskier/Eskel for the hug prompts?

I scrolled and scrolled and scrolled, and for the life of me I could not find the list this was from. So imma just make them hug it out

(considering this ask is 7 months old, something tells me you don't remember which one you asked for either😂)

Edit: I found a hug prompt list on someone else's blog and I'm running with it.

spinning in the air hugs, featuring trans Jaskier and happiness

It was the moment of truth, and Jaskier couldn’t look.

Except he couldn’t wait, either. Not for the first time, the medical portal told him he’d been sitting idle too long, threatening to log him out. He quickly hit the reset button on the timer, fighting with the mouse pad to recognize his sweaty fingers, and then pushed his laptop away again to stare at over his bunched up knees.

He held them close, fingers playing with his baby blue sweats, and chewed on his bottom lip.

This was something he’d been waiting on for years. Literal years, and he’d already told Eskel that he’d gotten a response from his doctor. Eskel had promised to be there for him when he opened it, for better or worse, and it honestly wasn’t wise for Jaskier to open it alone.

So much of his life had been building up to that moment, to reading what his doctor’s decision was. His toes curled and the light on his laptop dimmed, the news waiting for him. Right there, right in front of him - but Eskel wouldn’t be there for another ten minutes.

That was assuming traffic was bad, and Jaskier had lived in the city long enough to know it was always bad. Well, besides for 3 in the morning, which it was not. He squished his cheek against his knee, fidgeting in his spot, but even looking away from the laptop for a few seconds was too much.

Maybe he shouldn’t wait. Chin on his knees again, Jaskier squinted at the heading of the alert he’d gotten. It didn’t give him any more information than the last several times he’d given it a stink eye, though that didn’t stop him from trying. Was it really too much to ask for medical privacy to be damned and for it to just spill its secrets already?

He threw his legs out and grabbed the laptop, pulling it closer. His fingers hovered over the mouse pad, eyes staring the alert down. “Appointment results from 11-4” - that’s it, that’s all it said, but all he had to do was click it and he’d know.

Jaskier shoved his laptop away, swung his legs over the sofa, and stormed off to make some tea. He’d already waited over a decade to get rid of his tits, he could wait ten more minutes to figure out if it was happening soon or not.

Before he could even manage to get a mug out of the cupboard, Jaskier was scampering back to the laptop, squatting down in front of the sofa to squint at it.

Ten minutes. He could hold it together for ten minutes, no matter the news. And then Eskel would be there for him.

Jaskier clicked the alert, and skimmed it as fast as he could, his heart beating in his throat as his hands shook.

When Eskel got there, he didn’t even have time to unlock the door before the door swung open and he had an arm full of crying Jaskier. At first he didn’t know if the tears were good or bad, but after Jaskier blubbered out the brilliant news - “I’m approved, I was approved” - Eskel laughed, picking him up and spinning him in circles as Jaskier happily cried into his shoulder.

Years. He’d waited for years, and finally, soon, he’d be able to look in the mirror and see himself instead of someone else.

@fontegagrilledcheese @damnbert @mothmanismyuncle @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @jaskierswolf @oldandkinky @blooodymoon @kan0chan @silvermintnightprincess @flowercrown-bard @sharinalein @concussed-dragon @hayleynzlive @feral-jaskier @sweetiepieplum @stonedstargazer666 @deafeningnightcollection-things @luteandsword @kmuir1 @little-boats-on-a-lake @dani-dandelino @rurousha @renewlucifer

#jaskel #the witcher #mywriting #jaskier #eskel #witcher #jaskier/eskel #eskel/jaskier #jaskier x eskel #eskel x jaskier #witcher fic #the witcher fic #witcher fanfic #witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #fanfiction

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0dde11eth · 8 months

Text

*Jaskier and eskel kissing, and then jaskier invites eskel to join him in the bedroom*

Eskel: Really right now?

Jaskier: Yeah why not?

Eskel: I just ate aren't we supposed to wait an hour?

jaskier: That's for swimming

#my nonsense #jaskier #eskel #cinnamon roll eskel series #jaskel #jaskier/eskel

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shy-urban-hobbit · 5 months

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Hello! Are you still doing the 24 touch prompts? If yes, can I request 15 with Eskel and Jaskier, please?

Sorry for the wait!!! ❤️

Jaskier and Eskel 15 - gently kissing the others knuckles 😊.

“Just so you know, it feels really bizarre being on the other side of this particular scenario.” Jaskier commented as he gently manipulated a hand much larger than his own to better assess the damage.

One of the inn patrons had recognised Jaskier even without his usual, grumpy travel companion present. Usually this would be something to make the bard preen like the bird Geralt often compared him to but unfortunately, this same prick chose to heckle him throughout his entire set and then decided to start with the “Witcher’s whore” comments when he’d finished, which had Jaskier ready to give this already rather unbecoming fellow a broken nose to go with his sallow complexion (it wasn’t the insult itself per se, but Jaskier was no Saint and a man could only turn the other cheek so many times in one night). Until a semi familiar blur of black and red beat him to it, and that was apparently how Eskel decided to let the bard know that he was in town.

Luckily for them, the innkeeper saw the sense in not even trying to throw Jaskier out now that one of his non-human companions had made an appearance and hastily agreed that the other had bought it on himself, making no move to try and aid the now unconscious and bleeding man as Jaskier pulled Eskel up the stairs behind him, the Witcher stammering out half an apology although who exactly it was directed to, Jaskier couldn’t say.

That’s how they ended up in their current position in Jaskier’s room, both of them perched on the edge of the bed with Jaskier still keeping hold of Eskel’s hand as he leaned over to grab the small bottle of spirit he used as a disinfectant after proclaiming the others knuckles to be just grazed from the force of his punch.

“I could have told you that about ten minutes ago, Jaskier. It’ll be healed in a couple of hours.” Eskel stated.

“Oh, hush you. What would Geralt say if he found out I left his brother all hurt and bloody? Especially when it happened because he was defending my honour.” Jaskier proceeded to gently dab at the split skin across Eskel’s knuckles, seemingly unaware of how much effort it was taking his patient to not give into temptation and wrap his fingers around the smaller, softer hand in response.

“Like he’s never punched anyone for you before.”

Jaskier gave a huff of a laugh, “He doesn’t have to fight all my battles for me, and neither do you.” He paused to boop the end of Eskel’s nose, “I’m a big boy. I can deal with a few town assholes throwing insults at me. You didn’t have to get involved.”

“Hello Pot, have you met Kettle?” Eskel asked dryly, causing Jaskier to bluster slightly at being called out, “Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Oh, I see how it is. It’s fine when you lot say that.” Jaskier smirked, “Done! And...you didn’t have to, but it doesn’t mean I’m not grateful that you did. Thank you for being so gallant, dear Witcher.”

Eskel felt his face heat up as Jaskier pressed a kiss to his now treated knuckles like he was the love interest in one of those romance stories and not some huge, scarred Witcher, “Seriously though. Can we get back to the usual dynamic between myself and Witchers? I’m not sure I’m entirely liking this role reversal.”

Eskel knocked on the doorframe after purposely making his footsteps louder to give ample warning but even so, Jaskier still flinched where he was sat on the examination table. Curling his now bandaged hands against his chest as best as he could seemingly on reflex.

“Ah, Eskel! Everything alright?” He asked with forced brightness.

“Something we should have asked you much sooner.” He said gently as he came further into the room, trying to make himself look as small as he could and keeping his movements slow and deliberate. Between the torture and the imprisonment, the last thing he wanted was to make the bard feel trapped again, “May I?” He held a hand out palm upwards between them, leaving Jaskier the choice of whether to close the distance or not.

Jaskier hesitated before reaching out and placing one hand into Eskel’s, the Witcher running the ends of his fingers over skin and linen as delicately as if he were stroking a birds wing. He didn’t know every single detail but he knew enough from the very loud, very animated ‘discussion’ that had occurred between wolf, witch and bard earlier that day and has ended in Jaskier being dragged by the elbow to the infirmary.

“You didn’t tell him anything.”

The wonder in Eskel’s voice must have sounded too much like disbelief, as Jaskier shook his head rapidly in response, “Nothing. I promise I didn’t tell him anything about here, or Geralt, or Ciri. I-”

Eskel gently shushed him, feeling Jaskier's pulse jumping rabbit quick in his wrist underneath his fingers. He was suddenly struck by the desire to press a kiss to the tips of those poor, talented fingers but considering they were currently hidden away under layers of salve and bandage....

He brushed his lips against Jaskier’s knuckles, holding the gaze of wide, blue eyes as he did so and wondering briefly if the hitch in Jaskier’s breathing was a product of his imagination.

“Thank you for being so brave, dear bard.”

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #jaskier/eskel #jaskier x eskel #eskel/jaskier #eskel x jaskier #witcher eskel #eskel #witcher jaskier #jaskier

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mordoriscalling · 1 year

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The Shrike and the Lark (pt.9)

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) (Pt. 4) (Pt. 5) (Pt. 6) (Pt. 7) (Pt. 8)

Creyden, 1237

There are many people in the Queen’s bed chamber, but all that can be heard is deathly silence. Queen Renfri is seated in her bed, for she is still very weak, while King Julian paces nervously. Lady Chancellor and the rest of the Council stand by, their faces grim.

“Ivyr has had a hand in this, hasn’t he?” the King says.

Ivyr of Poviss, the husband of the eldest daughter of Queen Aridea, is currently one of the most persistent enemies of the Black Sun Twins. His actions have led to much loss and heartache in the past. He has taken it as his mission to make Queen Renfri and King Julian pay for the misfortunes they’ve caused to the remaining children of Aridea. The question King Julian posed is purely rhetorical; both the Council and the monarchs have been aware that Ivyr has gained considerable sway on the court of Kovir and Poviss. Thus, no one speaks, for there’s no need to answer.

The quiet is interrupted when the White Wolf and his three people – Eskel, Lambert and Lady Yennefer – are brought in.

“Why is it that you summoned us here so urgently?” the sorceress asks.

With a heavy sigh, Queen Renfri replies, “There is something we must inform you about. A messenger came with news. Pont Vanis has been seized by the forces of Kovir and Poviss. As we’ve said before, we have expected them to rebel against our rule for a while, and it seems to be happening. Their army has taken the city and they threaten to march to attack this castle.”

The Warlord makes a wordless conversation with his right and left hand through meaningful, disapproving looks. Then, Lady Yennefer speaks.

“It appears you’ve wasted a lot of our time. You cannot meet the conditions of the treaty now. Pont Vanis was the port we wished to use the most.”

The rulers and the council of Creyden do not attempt to refute that. No one of their advisors has any reply either.

Finally, it’s King Julian who takes action. He approaches the White Wolf and asks, “May I request a moment in private?”

“You may,” the Warlord permits coldly.

The King leads the Warlord outside of the Queen’s chambers, then downstairs, to the war room where they talked of broken hearts not so long ago. After the doors close behind them, silence reigns in the room for a while. King Julian steadies himself, holding onto the back of a chair by the table with a white-knuckled grip. The White Wolf stands by with a formidable scowl, waiting.

Then, a murmur cuts through the heavy hush.

“I need your help, my Lord.”

The Warlord jerks as if he had been struck. “Creyden needs military support,” he rephrases, dumbfounded.

“No. I need your help,” King Julian confesses. “Renfri is too weak to even walk, and I... I cannot go to battle alone. I’m utterly unlearned in the art of war! I’ll do anything you wish, my Lord, just help me through this, please.”

If anyone heard this, they would be astounded to find the King begging so openly. It seems to raise the White Wolf's suspicion: his eerie eyes narrowed, he stares the monarch up and down. Yet, Julian does not cower, only looks on at his former lover pleadingly.

“Anything?” the witcher echoes. “Truly? Then will you undo all the ties that bind us? Will you make Renfri renounce her claim of the Law of Surprise?”

King Julian remains silent, his lips pursed.

“Of course you won’t,” the Warlord scoffs. “You are in desperate need of heirs, are you not?”

The monarch does nothing to deny this. “Me and my sister do not see any of our next of kin to be a fit successor.”

“Both of you refuse to marry, too,” the White Wolf adds. “No lineage in sight.”

Every ruler knows what no clear line of succession involves. That is, great unrest at the very least: the kingdom is left in a state of conflict as pretenders to the crown compete for power. No heirs mean that your own power is not ensured, lasting as long as you live, and rulers can happen to have their lives cut short. Only those with descendants secure kingdoms.

“The boys are Renfri’s Surprise Children,” King Julian replies. “They are her children, then.”

“They’re not,” the witcher snaps. “I won’t give them to you.”

The King sighs tiredly. “Is the Warlord of the North truly powerful enough to deny what Destiny seems to want?”

“I wish I were,” the witcher replies morosely. “Forces beyond my control have ruled my life too much already.”

“Gods, I know!” Julian cries, throwing his arms up in the air with sudden frustration. “I know how little agency you’ve been left as a witcher! I know how you despise lack of choice!” He walks up to the White Wolf and carries on in a hoarse whisper, “Do you think it pleases me that you’re made to give up your very pack on our benefit? Do you think it’s a joy to see your resentment?” His blue eyes are made brighter with the glistening of tears. “Geralt, I... I’ve written so many poems and songs, of how you used to look at me when there was only warmth in your gaze.”

There isn’t a hint of affection in Geralt’s sun-like eyes now, only cold fury and hurt.

“How the hell do you expect me to feel, Jaskier?!” he all but snarls. “You boosted your fame with my stories, took your pleasure with my body and then left, giving me no explanation! Was I just a tool for you? Was it your plan all along to discard me once you had no more use of me?” he spats. Jaskier flinches like the question has inflicted physical pain upon him. “How do you expect me to trust you now?” the witcher demands.

Jaskier has been rendered speechless. Helplessly, he opens and closes his mouth, but no sound comes out. Geralt scoffs incredulously and begins to walk out of the room. Mere moments before he leaves, Jaskier finally regains the ability to speak.

“I can swear on Renfri’s life.”

The witcher turns back to him abruptly, eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”

Jaskier, pale as a ghost, repeats, “I can swear on Renfri’s life.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you,” Geralt says, his tone soft like it almost never is.

“I know,” Jaskier replies.

And then, before Geralt can stop him, Jaskier begins to speak the truth, his body shaking under the gravity of his words. “I swear that I’ve only ever held you in the highest regard. I gave you no explanation before leaving because I was too afraid of what you’d think of me, of how you’d react to having been lied to and, as I’ve told you before, I also feared for my safety.”

Then, Jaskier makes a short pause, gathering his strength to go on.

“I swear I had every intention of explaining it all to you after me and Renfri executed our initial plan of defeating Stregobor... which, well, went to shit the moment you appeared in Blaviken.”

Geralt huffs but doesn’t comment, so Jaskier continues.

“I swear that, very aware of how much I am asking, I request your help. If I were to handle this conflict alone, I would only lead my kingdom to a grave defeat. In my ignorance, I’ve always left the matters of war for Renfri to deal with, thinking her invincible, and now...”

The witcher smiles wryly, in sympathy. Jaskier gazes at him for a moment silently, with stark openness.

“And lastly, I swear that I have no wish of hurting you ever again and that I am willing with my whole heart to earn your trust and forgiveness, i-if you’d allow it.”

Taking a deep breath, Jaskier finishes, “All of this, I swear on the life of Renfri – my Queen, my sister and my soul.”

Heavy silence hangs between him and Geralt. Jaskier still trembles, too shaken by his vows. Geralt reacts to his distress with surprising gentleness, putting a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and murmuring, “I do not take this oath lightly.”

The King nearly sways on his feet as all the tension suddenly leaves his body. With a nod of gratefulness, he only manages to breathe a quiet thank you to the witcher. The White Wolf holds him by the shoulder, steadying him until Julian regains control of his emotions.

“Let’s go,” the witcher says. “The rest are waiting.”

As they return to the Queen’s bed chamber, many pairs of anxious eyes turn to them, silently begging for information.

“Your King has asked me to come to your aid,” the Warlord announces.

“And will the Warlord fulfil the King’s wishes?” Lady Chancellor inquires.

“He will not,” the White Wolf answers. Everyone freezes and King Julian gasps, too shocked to speak. Then, the witcher adds, “But Geralt of Rivia will.”

The air in the room is changed, a breeze of hope sweeping through it as the witcher carries on, “The Warlord has no intention to partaking in this conflict, but Geralt of Rivia wishes to support a friend who once saw him as a man and not a monster and a friend who snapped him out of his self-imposed neutrality.” He looks at King Julian and Queen Renfri. “The lessons they’ve taught me changed the lives of all witchers.” The White Wolf turns to his right hand. “Go back home,” he instructs, “ask if anyone wants to come to help. Volunteers only.”

“They’ll come,” Eskel assures with a smile.

Only then does King Julian seem to comprehend what is happening. With a sound of pure joy, he throws himself into the White Wolf’s arms, embracing him tightly.

“Thank you,” he whispers into the crook of the witcher’s neck. “Fuck, Geralt. Thank you!”

Gingerly, the Warlord raises one hand and cradles the back of the King’s head with it, while his other palm comes to rest on King Julian’s lower back. Then, he buries his nose in the King’s hair and draws a deep breath, his eyes shut tight. King Julian relaxes in the Warlord’s tender hold and hides his face deeper into the crook of the witcher’s neck.

As they bask in the embrace, the moment stretches into a little eternity. For them, nothing else matters; they do not feel the weight of many eyes on them. Too focused on the beating of each other’s hearts, they do not see all the gazes upon them, some of them perplexed, while others knowing.

It is Eskel who interrupts their intimacy. “There’s no time to lose,” he says briskly, looking anywhere but his lord and King Julian. “I will go to Triss, she’ll portal me. I’ll take Lambert with me. Get your xenovox, Yennefer.”

With that, the scarred witcher leaves, Lady Yennefer follows right behind, and the King and the Warlord step away from each other. They seem concerned, looking to where Eskel just left, but then Queen Renfri speaks.

“He’s right. We must decide on our strategy.”

This spurs the royal council into action. They debate with their King and Queen about what should be done, with some suggestions from the White Wolf and Lady Yennefer, who soon returns to the room. It gets determined that, no matter how many witchers volunteer to help, messengers should be sent out around the kingdom with a call to arms. After that matter is settled, Eskel’s voice resounds in the xenovox that Lady Yennefer brought with her.

“Yennefer, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“We’re ready. Go to the Great Hall.”

“How many of you are coming?” the sorceress asks, bemused at the request.

“You’ll see,” the witcher responds, with a smile that can be heard.

The Queen tells the members of the Council to head to the Great Hall. Once they leave, only her brother, the Warlord and Lady Yennefer remain in the room. Renfri moves to sit at the edge of her bed and tries to stand but her knees buckle under her and she has to sit back down.

“I could – ” the White Wolf begins.

“If you want to carry me,” she warns, “Then I fucking swear to Melitele, I’ll cut your hands off the next time we spar.”

An occasion for them to spar won’t come for a few months at least, but no one points it out. The White Wolf wisely remains silent.

“I could portal us there,” Lady Yennefer offers.

“You should reserve your Chaos,” the Warlord replies.

“And His Majesty should practice travelling through a portal,” the sorceress retorts.

“Wait, what – ” King Julian says, alarmed.

“Fine,” the witcher grunts, cutting him off. “I’ll meet you there.”

With that, the White Wolf leaves the chamber. Lady Yennefer watches him go with an expression of deep amusement.

“He hates portals,” she explains once she notices the confused looks the twin monarchs give her.

“What does it all mean,” the King demands.

In response, Lady Yennefer conjures up a portal and says, “I’m afraid you’ll have to experience this for yourself.”

The King and the Queen exchange a look of suspicion. Then, a wordless conversation seems to pass between them, and they come to a decision. Renfri raises from her bed helped by her brother and leans all her weight against him as she stands. Lady Yennefer walks into the swirling circle, and the King and the Queen follow slowly, for the Queen’s legs shake as she walks.

Down in the castle’s Great Hall, the twin rulers stumble out of the portal, looking much affected, pale and unwell.

“Fucking gods,” Queen Renfri chokes out.

“What in thrice-damned fucking hell,” King Julian exclaims, “was that?!”

Lady Yennefer only chuckles; she seems completely unmoved.

The King and the Queen sit down at their thrones, trying to recuperate while the members of their Council start joining them.

“I don’t think my insides are in the right places,” Renfri gasps out, her breathing laboured.

“My head is spinning so much,” Julian moans, “I think I’m about to faint!”

“You will live,” Lady Yennefer tells them. “Just take deep breaths.”

The twins are not given much more time to recover; the rest of the Council and the Warlord appear in the Hall quickly. Then, Lady Yennefer informs Eskel through the xenovox that they may come and a portal opens before the thrones.

Two witchers walk through it, then another one, and another. Yet another pair follows. Then, witchers keep coming. And coming. And coming.

Lambert and Eskel are the last to appear. The portal closes behind them. Four dozen new witchers, plus one, have walked through it. Together with the Warlord, that makes them fifty. A rather formidable number: such a group of witchers can defeat a group of human warriors at least ten times their size.

Queen Renfri and King Julian stare at them, wide-eyed and astounded. The King actually gapes. When he remembers himself, he promptly stands up from the throne and walks down to Eskel.

“You are a wonder,” he murmurs to the witcher.

Eskel’s answering smile is tight.

“We’ve come as a way of thanks,” he says loud enough for everyone to hear. “Your songs about Geralt helped paint us all in a better light. Queen Renfri was the one who made Geralt consider hunting all monsters, including human ones, which led to the rise of our home kingdom. The actions of both of you improved our lives.”

Heartache flickers in King Julian’s expression at his lover’s dismissal. “Well, then,” he replies, putting on a cheerful face, “You shall have our unending gratitude for your help.”

“Indeed,” Queen Renfri chimes in from her throne, “You’ll be received with high honours. I shall have a feast prepared to welcome you. Before that, please sit at the tables here. Let us discuss the problem at hand.”

Two main courses of action soon emerge from the debate. The first one is to wait and gather enough army to march at Pont Vanis, while the other is to portal the witchers and a small group of soldiers near the city, then launch an attack at the King’s palace during the night.

“It’s nothing we haven’t done before,” the Warlord argues. “We’ve been successful so far.”

“It’s very risky,” Queen Renfri counters.

“The element of surprise makes it effective,” the White Wolf retorts.

In the end, Queen Renfri is convinced to execute that plan, though isn’t thrilled about it, for she thinks it too hazardous. Her brother isn’t enthusiastic either, but his displeasure stems from how much danger the witchers will be putting themselves in.

Then, numerous details are talked about and established, including King Julian’s physical involvement in the whole operation.

“What if... something unforeseen should happen?” the King says then. “What if some of you, or I...”

“Do not speak of it,” Queen Renfri hisses. “If you put it into words, you put it into minds and thus into motion. Do not speak of it.”

“But I must,” he insists sternly. “I’m not the one to go to war, yet I must go.”

Renfri relents. “And I’m not the one who stays behind, yet I must stay.”

“If not many people respond to the call to arms, you wouldn’t be able to hold the castle for long. You’re in no condition to fight. Gods, what would become of you?”

His sister says nothing, for no answer is needed. With a pained smile, she only takes his hand and squeezes it.

“I could stay here,” Lady Yennefer proposes then. “To guard Her Majesty against any possible danger.”

King Julian gets rendered speechless by the generous offer.

“There’s no one Renfri would be safer with,” the Warlord says, taking his silence as a sign of disbelief. “Yennefer is the most powerful mage of the Continent.” He smiles at the sorceress with unconcealed pride. “She’s capable of turning whole armies to ash.”

“Then I’m leaving my sister in most capable hands indeed,” King Julian replies. “Thank you.”

His thanks are not filled with much apparent gratitude; rather, he says them in a measured way, not letting any of his emotions slip.

“And what of you?” Renfri asks her brother, squeezing his hand tighter. “You’ll be in much more danger than me.”

“I could make sure His Majesty is unharmed,” the Warlord says. “If that would put your mind at ease, I’ll keep him safe.”

“I believe there’s no one Jaskier would be safer with,” Lady Yennefer remarks with a soft smile directed at the White Wolf. “Geralt is the mightiest witcher of the Continent. No monster, human or not, can beat him.”

“Then I’m leaving my brother in most capable hands indeed,” Renfri says.

She does not thank her; the plain affection between the witcher and the sorceress pains her visibly.

Many more matters are discussed and settled. The feast is prepared and had. The twin monarchs never let go of each other’s hand for long, too gripped by fear.

Read the rest on AO3

#myfic #geraskier #jaskier/eskel #the accidental warlord and his pack #jaskier & renfri are disaster twins

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dapandapod · 1 year

Text

Toss a phone at your bard

HELLO my darlings.

So I am slowly working through my wip hoard and today it was decided it was time for Jaskel. Thank you Kei and Jamie. Let it be known, I have used Instagram like twice, but I am known to throw my phone across the room if something unexpected (usually positive) happens, so that is firmly anchored to reality. Please enjoy my silly boys having a time <3

On Ao3 here

Medieval festivals are amazing. Swords, jugglers, tournaments, handcrafts, historical clothing, they got it all. Depending on which one you go to, that is. This one ticks a lot of boxes, especially on the hand craft market.

Triss, Aiden and Essi had spent the past three weeks crafting their clothing, needling Jaskier's sleep-deprived student ass into joining them. On the condition that he could be That Guy, and play a medieval version of Wonderwall on his ukulele.

Because as cool as a lute is, they are fucking expensive, and hard to play at that. Jaskier knows, he tried.

Puffy sleeves and a scandalizingly open tunic really completes his look, and he enjoys all the looks the crowds are sending him.

Well. His group, because they look fucking excellent, but he is a part of the group, so it counts.

Aiden has dressed as a soldier, Essi as a historical crafting student has spent so much time on Triss' dress, and she looks every part a queen, save for the jewelry. Essi herself is dressed in a more modest dress, but no the less stunning with the attention to detail around her sleeves.

Yeah. They look awesome.

As they walk the area, they find so many crafts. Many of the stalls offer hand casted candles, even more offering lanterns and jugs, and where Aiden came to a stop, hand crafted wooden figurines.

Turns out Aiden knows one of the two standing there, the shorter, armored and rather angry looking Lambert. But no matter the scowling, there is no mistaking the spark between them. Lambert barely sees the rest of the group, eyes peeled on Aiden. It's cute, and Jaskier is happy for them, even if a pang of loneliness aches in him.

That is when Jaskier's eyes land on the other person by the stall.

How Jaskier didn't see him immediately is beyond him, because, wow. Belatedly Jaskier realizes he needs to close his mouth, as he feels Essi's elbow against his side. He looks away quickly, glad that the man didn't notice.

"You good?" She asks teasingly, and damn, Jaskier could *kick* her.

"Tired." Jaskier excuses himself, because he is. That's what you get when you are awake past 3am, staring at the ceiling.

Essi knocks her shoulder to his in sympathy, she knows of his struggles, and does her best to help him.

"Did you watch the video I sent?"

"Three times."

"Aw."

"Insomnia still kicking your ass?" Triss asks as she picks up a little wooden trinket. "Oh, this is cute."

This finally grabs the man across the table's attention.

He smiles at her, eyes gliding over the group, lingering on Jaskier, and suddenly it is hard to breathe.

"Thank you." He says, and why is even his voice attractive?! Unfair.

"You are the one making them? This swallow is really cute!"

"I am, yes. The swallow is my niece's favorite." He says, and Jaskier picks one up to inspect it. It really is well made, the cut of the blade is really subtle, giving a nice texture to the wings.

"They are really nice." Jaskier says, bringing those hazel eyes on him again, and a smile is directed his way. Shit.

"You should see the goats he makes." Lambert pipes up, earning him a glare. "No one loves goats like Eskel."

Aiden laughs brightly, as Jaskier rolls that name around in his head. Eskel.

"Fuck you, Lambert."

"That wasn't very medieval of you." Lambert retorts and Eskel rolls his eyes.

"Pardon my brother, my liege." Eskel says to Triss, tilting forward in half a bow. "He is desperate to impress that kitten knight of yours."

Both Lambert and Aiden splutters indignantly, and Triss covers her smile with a gloved hand.

"Apology accepted, sir, if you show us those rumored goat creations of yours"

Turns out, Eskel didn't bring them, but he pops up his instagram and youtube account, showing off some finished sculptures that he made.

They are incredible, and there are videos of Eskel working the wood, showing his whittling process. Some of them are how-to's, some of them are just sped up showing his progress, and Jaskier finds himself drawn towards those where Eskel is explaining what he does.

Essi buys a little figurine before they leave, and Jaskier snags one of Eskel's business cards. Why? For the social media accounts, of course. No other reason.

When they turn to leave, Essi hooks her arm around Jaskier's and whispers not-so-quietly if Jask should have asked Eskel if he is single.

She is a terrible friend.

Coming home from the fair is a busy affair. Many layers of clothing need to be shed and put away carefully for next time.

Jaskier had the pleasure of playing Wondereth Walleth eight times before he was challenged to a duel, to which Sir Cat, meaning Aiden, stepped up.

All in all, it was an amazing day, and Jaskier managed to see Eskel a few more times, stopping by their stall to chat when Aiden wanted to flirt.

He is pleasantly tired, and he is filled with a giddy energy, which doesn't bode well for tonight, but fuck it, Jaskier lets himself enjoy it.

The moment he is free from his garments, after having posted some group photos and some *very* nice selfies if he may say so himself, Jaskier takes out Eskel's business card again.

Is this stalking? No, nah, not at all.

This is just checking out a craftsman at work, adding to his views, helping him out. That is what marketing is all about, you know?

It has nothing to do with how Jaskier can't stop thinking about Eskel's broad frame, his big hands around his delicate creations, his skill with a knife.

Alright, maybe a little, but again, fuck it! Jaskier will allow himself to enjoy this giddy feeling. It's been a while since he's felt anything but stress and tiredness anyway.

In only his undies and an oversized hoodie, Jaskier throws himself on his messy bed with his phone.

Dragoninthewoods, a curious name, but it makes sense later, as Jaskier stumbles over a video where Eskel is using fire to stain the wood for effect.

Holy shit, he is hot.

Jaskier settles in, throwing the blanket around himself, only to kick a leg free half a minute later, and scrolls through Eskel's instagram.

Like always, Jaskier finds himself staying awake past midnight, finding himself lingering on a picture of Eskel and what seems to be his niece in a petting zoo. It's a nice picture, with the little girl staring a chicken down, and Eskel having at least three baby goats climbing him, looking delighted.

It is tagged with 'if one is missing it wasn't me' and 'don't tell lambert i found his mother - ciri' and 'guess I'm making more goats, huh?' and Jaskier is so charmed.

The more he looks, the more he notices. The scars, of course, are hard to miss, but the crinkle around Eskel's eyes? The way he holds himself up under the wheight of the little monsters, the way the side of his shirt is riding up, revealing skin and oh fuck, Jaskier this is absolutely stalking.

Everything comes crumbling down around him when he accidentally likes the picture. Jaskier unlikes it just as fast and throws the phone across the room on instinct. Because that will fix things.

Survival, he is good at it.

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!

Well. There is bound to me an influx of activity on his social pages after a fair, right?

It's fine. It's fine!

It doesn't matter that the only picture he actually liked across his whole page is the one showing Eskel himself, this is fine! Jaskier throws himself on his back, staring up at the ceiling. No more phone for tonight, it's fine.

It's fine.

It's not fine.

It's been another hour, and Jaskier has a new message. The phone is oh so very far away, all the way across the floor, taunting him. It wouldn't be Eskel, would it? No, that would be dumb. But it could be, right?

No, it couldn't.

Without his permission, Jaskier's body is sitting up and tip-toeing across the room to pick it up, heart in his throat.

It's Aiden, but the message doesn't make sense at first, in the little summary box.

"Look, if you are gonna go through his pictures at 2am in the morning, it's fine, but please don't wake up the rest of the house by liking a picture without sliding into his DM's. Fix it. / Lambert."

......What? Whatwhatwhatwhatwhat?

Jaskier stares at his phone, and then he notices a high pitched sound, and then he notices it is in fact him doing that high pitched sound, and excuse him, what the actual fuck?!

The message has been taunting him for some good long minutes, until another message joins the other.

From Dragoninthewoods.

Jaskier throws his phone at the bed on instinct, hard, because that is apparently who he is as a person when he panics.

Retrieving it from between the bed and the wall, Jaskier braves to read the message.

"I can see that you didn't. Fixed it. There you go, perfect conversation starter. You are welcome /Lambert."

What the fuck what the FUCK?!

Not a minute later, there is another message, profusely apologizing, this time signed with Eskel.

Jaskier's heart is beating so hard he can hear it in his ears, his breath is coming in fast and the giddy nerves from before run through him like a storm. It is not as if Jaskier *wants* to overthink it, but as he types out a reply his mind is racing.

Without letting himself think more about it, Jaskier sends a reassurance back, and a promise to go see his wares at the fair tomorrow too. He hadn't planned on it but like. That is a good excuse, right?

Insomnia still holds Jaskier in a tight grip the rest of the night, but he manages to snatch an hour or two of sleep before he is woken up by his phone again, this time a message from Aiden, actually Aiden, offering to meet up at the fair and why didn't he mention he as going both days?!

Well. That is not something he is going to bring up on a phone anywhere near Lambert, if he has learned anything at all from all of this.

Jaskier redresses in his bard's clothes, even packing his uku-lute, as he has come to affectionately call it now.

Aiden and Jaskier meet up outside the gates, where all the tents are set up. That would explain a thing or two, if Aiden crashed with the brothers last night.

"Heard you put our dragon man in a spin." Aiden says by way of greeting.

"Uh, hi?" Jaskier says back, confused and embarrassed and excited all at the same time.

"Oh please. Eskel has been fretting all morning, and I know you have a thing for him already. That was painfully obvious. What did you even do?"

Ah fuck.

"I might have... liked a picture on his on instagram that I didn't mean to."

Aiden stares at him like he has grown a second head.

"That's all?" He asks, incredulous.

"That's all." Jaskier confirms, more confused than ever.

"Oh, he's got it bad." Aiden groans, throwing his head back in exasperation. "Ok, so I have a confession. I might be dating Lambert, and I might have shown Eskel your picture at some point, and uh... talked about you a bit."

It is time for Jaskier to stare at Aiden like he has grown a second head, because what?

"What?" He asks, because yes, what?

"Yeah, uh. He's hot, you're hot, you know?" Aiden waves his hand nonchalantly and steers them towards the fair area. "So you should talk to him today, you know. Ask him out or something."

"I threw my phone across the room because of him. Twice."

Aiden snorts, "Exactly."

Jaskier makes weak protests all the way over to Eskel's stall, where Lambert already stands waiting. There are dark circles under his eyes, matched by Eskel sipping on a coffee on a little footstool next to his table. When they are noticed, Eskel shoots straight up, eyes wide and Lambert rolls his eyes.

"Good morning!" Aiden calls, stepping right up to his... boyfriend, Jaskier supposes, and steals a bite of the sandwich Lambert is holding.

"Asshole." Lambert mutters, but doesn't put up a fight. That is love, right there. "Here for my idiot brother?"

No mercy, whatsoever.

"Ah. I suppose... I am?" It comes out as a question, but yeah, he is actually. Jaskier gathers up his courage, and meets Eskel's eyes. "Want to walk around the fair with me for a bit?"

Eskel looks like a deer caught in headlight, and Lambert shoves him into motion to join Jaskier.

"If you keep him and therefore me awake another night, I will stab someone." Lambert threatens, and it makes Jaskier huff a laugh.

"No promises, I guess?" Jaskier teases, and then by some miracle takes Eskel's hand and leads them away.

As soon as they are out of sight, Jaskier lets go awkwardly, and scratches the back of his head.

"Uhm. Sorry? For just showing up and dragging you away I mean. You got a business to run."

"No, it's fine, I... Lambert will look after it. And Aiden I suppose. Sorry about last night, really, I didn't see Lambert taking my phone."

"It's fine, it's fine! Kind of sweet of him, really. Did I really keep you up?"

This is the strangest conversation Jaskier has ever had. Probably not true, but right now it really feels like it. Somewhere in the top ten list, at the very least.

"Uh, yeah. I kind of threw my phone across the tent when I saw the notification." Eskel confesses, and well.

"So did I. Twice." They smile at each other, and start walking again.

"So. Where to? Anything we should see today?"

"There will be a tournament in about 15 minutes, my niece is the princess and my brother is one of the knights competing."

"Another brother?"

"Yeah, Geralt. He adopted Ciri last year, after her parents passed."

"Oh no, that's sad!"

"Yes, but they are dealing well. They are both smiling a lot more now."

They stroll between the stalls, around the small stage where a bard with an *actual* lute is setting up, together with a girl with a drum and a third with a fiddle, around the little dirt paths leading them towards the paddock where the tournament will be held.

Jaskier finds himself asking questions about Eskel's work, about his family, about that goat thing, and Eskel in turn ask questions about his degree, his outfit, and if he is doing anything next weekend and possibly might be free for a coffee.

Yeah.

Day two of medieval fairs indeed turns out to be better.

Jaskier learns that Eskel has a really dorky laugh, that Aiden has been trying to set them up for *weeks*, and for that, they both probably owe Aiden at least a bottle of wine.

#jaskel #jaskier x eskel #meet cute #the witcher #wood worker eskel #everything else jaskier #wondereth walleth #you heard it here first #dapanda writes #gang i am so fucking tired i really need to go to sleep #jaskier/eskel #jaskier the bard #eskel #aiden x lambert #triss merigold

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spilledbutter · 2 years

Text

like cardiac arrest (high voltage when we kiss) - chapter 2

Summary: Jaskier needs a date, fast. Problem is, dating is harder than it used to be. Luckily, Eskel’s willing to help him out.

Or: Two idiots in love think it’s a great idea to pretend to date each other. No one is fooled.

Jaskier/Eskel | Rated: M | WC: 4k+ | CW: coarse language, sexual thoughts

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Prompt fill for lovely Kei! Read Chapter 1 on AO3 or here on Tumblr.

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The weekend came, and with it, the arrival of Lambert and Aiden’s monthly cookout. Even though it was November and practically snowing, Lambert didn’t cancel his cookouts for anything, everyone else’s feelings about that fact aside. (“Rain or fucking shine, Jaskier, I don’t give a fuck about something as trivial as the weather,” he’d sneered when Jaskier had bothered to ask, one day. He’d never questioned it again.) Jaskier and Eskel were going, as they always did, with the new development of needing to look like a couple. They’d decided today would be as good a test run as any in seeing if their relationship would pass as genuine. After all, who would be a better judge than their friends and family?

It was a reasonable, terrible idea. Jaskier was absolutely shitting himself as he heard the knock on his door.

Eskel thought he should pick him up, thought they should drive there together. It did seem more natural, Jaskier supposed, but it really just meant he had no time at all to prepare himself for being a couple with Eskel and what that meant for his sanity.

He took a deep breath, which caught in his throat only a second later.

Eskel looked… Wow. The other man was stunning in a red button-up, top two buttons undone and bloated biceps on full display. His top was paired with well-fitting black jeans, which showed off his plump backside rather nicely. He had a sherpa-lined leather jacket and soft-looking scarf hanging over one arm, Blundstone-booted feet tying it all together.

Jaskier idly cursed good genes and the color red and the time when he’d told Eskel he looked dashing in it, so very long ago. It was awful that Eskel had taken him at his word, really, because now he was left dealing with the unfortunate reality of his good taste. He was practically salivating, unable to help his staring with so much to look at.

Jaskier was very much not ready for today, Melitele help him.

“Hi.” He sounded breathless even to his own ears, but Eskel either didn’t notice or was too kind to comment on it.

“Hi yourself. You ready to go?”

Eskel stepped fully into Jaskier’s apartment, perfectly at ease, and bent to scratch Mattie, Jaskier’s cat, as she gave him a mrow in greeting.

“Yeah, just about. Let me just grab my coat.”

Jaskier moved to the bedroom and was back in a flash, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his own double-breasted peacoat and wrapping a scarf around his neck. He’d dressed for luck today, wearing all of his favorite things in the hopes that this wouldn’t all blow up his face as spectacularly as he expected it would.

A button-up of his own, in a pretty cream color with light lace detailing around the buttons, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off his hands and wrists. His lovely thrifted waistcoat covered in floral embroidery (which some might call gaudy, but really, that was due to their inability to appreciate art, thank you very much). His favorite pair of black jeans, which fit his ass and thighs like a glove. His well-loved Chelsea boots, warm and practical but stylish and rustic. The pearl earring he’d crafted from one of his mother’s old necklaces in one ear and his many, ever-present rings adorning his fingers. Your clothes are your armor, Jaskier, and gods know you’ll need it today.

He came back to stand in front of Eskel with a smile and a prayer.

“Well, we look quite the pair, don’t we?” He hoped his usual charm was enough to mask his nerves. “You clean up rather nicely, Esk, though I don’t think that’s a surprise to anyone.”

He brushed a casual hand over Eskel’s shoulder without much thought, missing the flare of heat in the other man’s eyes.

“You too, Jask. In fact…” Eskel took that moment to step closer, crowding into Jaskier’s personal space. He placed a careful hand at Jaskier’s waist, used the other to guide Jaskier’s fallen hand back to his own shoulder. The look in his eyes was inscrutable, his touch as familiar as it was strange in this charade they found themselves in.

Jaskier was stunned for the second time in as many days. He blinked, mouth falling slightly open. “Esk? Bit early for this, yeah? We don’t even have an audience, unless you count Mattie,” he chuckled nervously, heart pounding like a drum.

The hand was a warm, bracing heat where it rested over the linen of his shirt. Jaskier felt the touch like a brand, sparks flying from the points where they made contact.

“Hm,” Eskel rumbled, bringing his other hand around Jaskier’s lower back and somehow stepping even closer. “Figured this would be as good a time as any to practice.”

Eskel’s thumb was rubbing small, distracting little circles at the base of his spine. Jaskier was finding it harder to string together a coherent thought by the second. “P-Practice…?”

The other man’s eyes crinkled at the corners, his mouth quirking into a becoming smile. Jaskier wanted to see what it would taste like, pressed to his lips.

“Kissing, Jask. Would you prefer I planted one on you when you weren’t expecting it? I didn’t want you to be more surprised than everyone else is already going to be.”

Jaskier spluttered, cheeks turning red. “I– well, I mean– Maybe? Probably a good idea, all things considered, would seem– normal, since we’re dating and all. Not that I’m saying no right now, but–”

Eskel took pity on him, chuckling. “Noted. I’ll remember that for later.”

He still hadn’t stopped that damnable stroking of his back. Fuck.

Jaskier bit his lip, hand tightening unconsciously on Eskel’s shoulder. His other hand moved from his side to rest tentatively on the meat of Eskel’s pec. “It might be… smart. Practicing. Do you… um, now?”

Jaskier had never been less eloquent in his life, but Eskel didn’t need pretty words to understand what he meant.

Eskel’s hand traveled smoothly from Jaskier’s waist to grasp his chin. Jaskier wasn’t small by any means, standing at just under six feet tall, but Eskel made him feel downright dainty. Something about that fact made a primal part of his brain purr with pleasure.

They locked eyes, blue meeting hazel. Jaskier took a few moments to just… look. He didn’t see any hesitation or regret in Eskel’s gaze, just warmth. The tension in his shoulders loosened, his face tilting just that little bit more upward.

Eskel, intelligent man that he was, didn’t wait any longer.

The warm press of lips against Jaskier’s own sent a bolt of lightning down his spine. It was rather chaste, all things considered, but he’d never felt quite so many butterflies as he did now with anyone else, the warmth spreading from where they were connected all the way down to his toes.

Eskel’s arms curled firmly around Jaskier’s hips, but his kisses remained soft, almost tentative. Jaskier felt a hunger clawing its way up his throat and just barely smothered the desperate sound that tried to escape. He pressed himself closer, arms looping around Eskel’s neck as his lips parted, praying that the declaration sitting on his tongue remained inside.

By the gods, kissing Eskel was like the first sight of water in a desert. Like the first flowers sprouting through frost, like first love in the summer. Like the last love he hoped he’d ever have.

They’d been kissing for maybe a minute, probably less, but when they pulled apart, Jaskier was panting. He felt absolutely wrecked, heart threatening to claw its way out of his chest, every part of his being screaming about the minuscule distance between them.

Fuck, he was so fucking fucked.

“Um,” he licked his suddenly dry lips and blinked through the pleasant, dazed feeling that had taken over his brain. “Think we’ll pass the test?”

Eskel looked almost as starstruck as Jaskier was, breath coming in shallow little puffs and a faint flush at the tips of his ears, though he schooled his features quickly. Jaskier’s heart fluttered at having that effect on him, feeling the sticky ooze of pride in his gut, despite knowing it was just a physical reaction to a damned good kiss.

When Eskel spoke, his voice was rough. “I think we just might.”

—-

“Jask! Eskel!” Aiden’s voice carried warmly over to them as they arrived through the back gate.

The butterflies were fully present again and Jaskier wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans. Eskel’s hand was a comforting warmth on his lower back, guiding him through the gate where he waited, hesitating.

“Hey, you two! Glad you could make it!” Aiden came over and hugged both of them tightly, as if he hadn’t just seen them two weeks ago when they met with Geralt and Lambert for drinks.

Jaskier smiled despite himself. “Hey Aiden, everyone here already? We brought refreshments.” Eskel held up their offering at Jaskier’s queue.

Aiden grinned like the cat that got the cream. “Great! Afraid Lambert made his way through most of ours last night when Geralt came over. Poor fool’s hopeless at Gwent, gods help him.”

Eskel snorted. “Don’t worry, Aid. I like you, so I won’t tell him you said that.”

“And that’s what makes you my favorite brother-in-law!”

Eskel smiled, moving to press a casual kiss to Jaskier’s cheek before excusing himself. “Going to put these in the fridge real quick. Be right back.”

Jaskier froze, knowing his face was practically glowing at the easy display of affection, but tried to play it cool. Damn it, Eskel, you had to leave me to deal with this alone…

He supposed he should be grateful it was Aiden first. He sighed.

“So… You and Esk?”

He glanced over at Aiden, not sure what he was expecting to find, but huffed a small breath of relief at seeing only curiosity in his expression. “When did that happen?”

“A few weeks ago. Remember Yenn’s birthday?”

In truth, it wasn’t a hard story to sell. He and Eskel were frequently together (some might say attached at the hip), so it wasn’t surprising when they’d left together that night. Jaskier was a friendly drunk in general, even more so with his actual friends, and he knew he’d been all over Eskel. He privately remembered how hard it was to keep his mouth shut, with the cold air around them and the warmth of Eskel’s body as he’d practically carried him down the street. How close he’d been to blowing it when they’d stumbled home to Jaskier’s flat…

Aiden nodded, brows raised, and shook him out of his reverie. “So, was it you or him? Honestly Jask, I have to tell you, we’ve all talked about it over the years,” he chuckled.

Jaskier frowned, brows furrowing. Aiden didn’t seem to notice.

“We placed some bets, with interest, so I’d really love to know if I won the pot.”

“You all placed bets on when I’d finally confess? That’s hardly fair. Should’ve taken the secret to my grave just to spite you,” Jaskier grumbled.

He was more than a little indignant that they all seemed to know how absolutely gone he was over Eskel, particularly since he’d never mentioned it to any of them. Maybe it was just a testament to how well they knew him. The thought wasn’t comforting in the slightest.

Aiden smirked, saying nothing, before tugging Jaskier by the wrist towards the fire pit.

“Come on, it’s fucking cold.”

—-

For the fourth time in the last twenty minutes, he found his gaze traveling across the yard. Eskel was sipping at a beer and chatting with Geralt. No doubt it was about the kids Geralt kept catching stoned out of their minds in the park campgrounds every weekend. He knew it had been a thorn in his best friend’s side for weeks, reluctant as he was to do too much about it. Lambert, who had just joined the other two, suddenly roared with laughter at some bit of Geralt’s dry humor, Eskel and Geralt smirking along with him at the unheard joke. Jaskier found himself smiling fondly, watching them all together.

“Lucky in love at last, bard?”

Jaskier scoffed, caught staring, and turned to Yennefer. She was bouncing little three-year-old Ciri on her knee on the other side of the fire, looking every bit at home in Lambert’s backyard. The beer she was holding clashed with her tailored pantsuit but only added to the picture she made, and really, it was just unfair that she made that look work to her advantage. Even with the snot Ciri was surreptitiously wiping on her shoulder.

“What can I say, witch? The man’s got taste,” he retorted with a smirk, all confidence he didn’t quite feel.

The nicknames were stupid things they’d given each other back in college, back when they were rivals fighting over the attention of a certain white-haired man who wasn’t ready for any kind of relationship. They were almost pet names, now, many years and shared bottles of wine over Geralt’s stupidity later.

Triss smiled over at him from her place next to Yennefer, a knowing glint in her eye. She was chopping vegetables for kabobs, her skilled hands making quick work with the knife she was holding. Yennefer leaned over to her, rolling her eyes at Jaskier, and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. Triss let out a smitten giggle.

A lawyer and a doctor, both beautiful to boot. He'd be intimidated if he hadn’t known them for years.

He smiled despite himself, pleased to see his friends happy in love. It only hurt a little bit, this time, knowing he at least had Eskel’s temporary attention to comfort him.

“We’re happy for you, Jask, you know that, right?” Triss finally chimed in, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she passed him to take the finished kabobs to Lambert at the grill.

Jaskier felt his cheeks heating, longing and wistfulness twisting sickly in his gut, and nodded. He hoped his feelings didn’t show on his face.

The night carried on, drinks and laughter and stories about their weeks shared between them, before they finally settled at Lambert’s massive patio table to eat. It was still cold out, but the patio lamps were warm, and Jaskier couldn’t help but feel even warmer with the drink in his belly and good company around him.

Jaskier was sitting next to Eskel, Aiden on his right, and Geralt across from them both. It was a little awkward, feeling Geralt trying not to stare at them. He hadn’t said anything to his best friend about this, knows how that must look since they all believe he and Eskel are dating now, but really, there wasn’t anything to tell. He couldn’t exactly tell Geralt he was fake-dating his brother as a ploy to best his mortal enemy, now could he? Nevermind the fact that he’d never exactly told Geralt he was in love with the man. Seemed like that was for the best, as that would only make things worse than they were now.

There was a stilted silence in the air, everyone tucking into their meals except for Geralt, who continued to look at Jaskier and Eskel as if they were a great mystery he couldn’t quite parse. Finally, Geralt must decide he’s drunk enough to say something because he huffs.

“I just don’t get it. How are you two dating?”

Everyone pauses, looking between the four of them–Geralt, Jaskier, Eskel, and the elephant in the room.

Jaskier, surprisingly, found his hackles up. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Geralt shrugs, looking only a little sorry. “It’s just, well… surprising, is all.”

And that just made it worse, Jaskier practically bristling like a cat whose tail has been stepped on. He starts spluttering, winding himself up into a rant about how Geralt doesn’t know fucking anything and how dare he say that in front of everyone, when Eskel’s hand lands on his thigh.

Jaskier pauses, then, looks over at Eskel. He is surprised by the warmth he sees in the other man’s eyes, compassion and tenderness and comfort all wrapped up in gold-flecked hazel. Eskel’s thumb is stroking over Jaskier’s knee, and he’s looking at him like that, and Jaskier suddenly can’t find it in him to be angry anymore.

“It’s okay, sweet thing,” Eskel murmurs. “I’ll do the explaining, yeah?”

He shifts his attention to everyone, walking them through their cover story–how they’d left their friends at the bar several weeks ago and fallen into each other’s arms. He keeps rubbing those damnable circles into the flesh on the inside of Jaskier’s knee, and Jaskier can’t quite stop himself from staring at Eskel’s mouth as he forms the words.

Particularly not when Eskel adds in a few things they hadn’t discussed.

“I know you’re all surprised, but this isn’t really new. Not for me. I’ve always loved Jaskier,” and he takes a moment to gaze straight into Jaskier’s eyes as he says that, before looking away like it’s nothing. Like he hasn’t just shattered Jaskier’s entire world.

He continues, clueless to the storm raging its way through Jaskier’s insides. “I just finally got my shit together enough to say something about it–and I was lucky that he felt the same way.”

Jaskier can’t look away from him, caught up in the way his eyes look at he says things like always loved and lucky about Jaskier, of all people. He feels a twinge of deja vu, thinking of the conversation with Yenn just over an hour ago.

Geralt’s hawk eyes keep darting back and forth between them–to the foolishly besotted look Jaskier is sure must be on his face right now, to the way he’s got his whole weight leaned against Eskel’s side like he’s the only thing keeping him upright. He’s not sure what Geralt makes of Eskel, but whatever he sees, it finally seems to satisfy him enough that he crosses his arms and nods.

“Happy for you both. I mean it,” he says gruffly, making sure to meet both of their eyes to show how serious he is. Jaskier feels a flutter of affection for his closest friend, any residual annoyance from his earlier comment fully faded away now.

Geralt pushes away from the table then, reaching to grab Ciri from her booster seat. He excuses himself, likely going to put Ciri down for her late afternoon nap. It’s just as likely he needs a second to rationalize the reality that his brother and best friend are together.

Jaskier turns back to the rest of the table at this point, still unsure what he’s going to see in the rest of their faces despite Geralt’s acceptance. He looks around at everyone, at Yennefer and Lambert and Vesemir, and feels something tight unfurl in his stomach as he sees the acceptance on all of their faces, something he hadn’t even known was there.

He lets himself smile, just for a second, and squeezes Eskel’s hand where it still rests on his knee under the table. He gets a fond squeeze back. This felt right. And although it wasn’t true, it felt good to know that everyone would be there to support them if it was.

—-

The rest of the evening is a quiet affair, and when the stars are well into the night sky, they finally say their goodbyes to everyone and make their way back to Eskel’s car. It’s only when he’s settled in the passenger seat with his seatbelt on that Jaskier goes limp with the weight of all of his feelings, pressing the heels of his hands firmly into his eyes.

“Jask? You okay?” It comes quietly, and although Eskel isn’t touching him, Jaskier breathes in his presence like the comfort that it always is.

He takes a moment and heaves a heavy breath out through his nose before he tries to speak. “Yeah. Just didn’t anticipate that being so… heavy. And I have to admit I didn’t think about how Geralt would react to the fact we hadn’t told him first when I proposed this idea.”

Jaskier rubs a nervous hand through his hair, sighing. He feels Eskel’s eyes on him, with that same quiet intensity he always has, before his hand is suddenly in Eskel’s.

“I’m sorry if I… overstepped, back there. Figured you’d really–want to sell it,” Eskel chuckles, weakly, and drums his fingers on the steering wheel.

Jaskier takes a moment to look at him more closely, taking in the tense set of his shoulders, the way he won’t quite meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he says, squeezing Eskel’s hand again, “What’s going through that big brain of yours?”

Eskel is still quiet, and it’s a little unsettling. Jaskier forces himself to be patient.

Eventually, he sighs, before turning to look at Jaskier. “We could still stop this, you know. Tell everyone it was all a big joke. I know I said it might be easier since we know each other, but I might have been wrong on that front.”

Jaskier’s heart is pounding, heart beating too hard at the direction this conversation might be turning. He doesn’t think Eskel is on to him, doesn’t think he’s noticed, but he will be if Jaskier asks what he wants to. Do you want to stop? Because I’ve never wanted anything less.

He swallows the question burning in his throat but is determined to do something about the furrow between Eskel’s brows, at the very least. No use in having the other man worried because of him.

“You did exactly what was asked of you, dear heart, no apology needed.”

Jaskier pauses, tap-dancing on the fine line between comforting honesty and revealing too much. “You know, when we decided to do this, I knew it would be a little messy,” he gave a rueful smile at that, hoping the little bit of truth in his words was enough for now. “But I can’t say there’s anyone I’d be happier doing this with than you.”

Eskel finally looks his way, a twitch at the corner of his mouth akin to a smile.

“Yeah?” And that confident light Jaskier loves so much is back in Eskel’s eyes as he says, “Not just because I’m a phenomenal kisser?”

The moment is broken, just like that. Jaskier shoves him playfully, laughing despite the resounding crack he feels in his heart. However this ends, they’ll be okay, even if he has to make peace with just being Eskel’s friend forever. Even if he knows now what Eskel looks like right after he’s been kissed, bright-eyed and breathless and beautiful. Even if his stupid heart guts him from the inside out by the time this is over.

Eskel turns the keys in the ignition and finally starts the drive to Jaskier’s flat. The streetlights outside flicker through the windows, turning Eskel’s olive skin a lovely golden brown. They’re quiet, except for the soft music playing on the radio, each digesting the developments of the last few days.

Jaskier can’t help himself, eyes drawn to Eskel’s face again. The other man looks mostly relaxed, still frowning slightly at whatever thoughts are going through his mind. Jaskier feels the ache acutely, then, wishing more than anything that he had the courage to fess up.

Instead, he reaches over and gently takes the hand resting on Eskel’s thigh in his own, smoothing a thumb over his knuckles. He hopes it’s a comfort, however small. He misses the eyes that flick over to him as he does so, the overwhelming fondness that takes over the other man’s expression as if he can’t help it any longer.

They sit like that, clasped hands resting on Jaskier’s knee and earnestly stealing glances at each other, for the rest of the drive.

Eventually, they pull up in front of Jaskier’s building, and Eskel parks the car. Jaskier is gathering his things and doesn’t notice when Eskel gets out of the car, hurrying over to open the door for him.

Another wave of blistering warmth rushes through him, the longing so intense he can barely stand it, but he simply beams up at his friend, getting out of the car with a quiet thank you.

“Well… this is me.”

Jaskier can’t resist glancing down at his shoes, feeling bashful, all of a sudden. He’s not sure why the feeling comes to him only now when the other man had declared his undying love in front of their friends and family earlier, but it’s there all the same.

His breath is stolen from him when Eskel steps forward and wraps his strong arms tightly around his frame, squeezing him in a hug so tight he lifts him off the ground. Jaskier is flustered, blushing at the fact that Eskel lifted him like he weighed absolutely nothing, but hugs him back just as tightly.

Eskel finally sets him back on the ground, arms still lightly wrapped around his sides. That inscrutable look is back in his eyes as he stares down at him, a soft smile on his face. Jaskier feels his insides go all squirmy.

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

“I’ll text you, okay?” He smiles in response. Before he can stop himself, he leans up to press a soft kiss to Eskel’s scarred cheek. He gives him another quick hug before scurrying inside.

He stops to catch his breath only when he’s safely inside his apartment, leaning heavily against his locked door. Mattie comes up to him and rubs affectionately against his leg, but he can’t pay her any mind. Groaning, he slides to the floor, head in his hands.

He was so fucking fucked.

(2/3)

#asi writes #prompt fill #jaskel #jaskel fics #jaskier/eskel #jaskier/eskel fics #the witcher #witcher #jaskier x eskel #jaskier x eskel fics #eskel #julian alfred pankratz #jaskier the bard #jaskier #witcher fanfiction #wip #sorry kei this is getting REALLY long lmao

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