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cas-kingdom · 1 year

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Luna Wolf

A/N: This has been long in the making, as in written sparingly over a few months, so it is a little choppy, but I missed posting stories about this duo. Please enjoy! (For the purpose of this fic—and our poor emotions—Eskel’s death comes a little differently than how it’s shown in the episode).

The italics indicate flashbacks to separate scenes in the second episode of season 2 (and one not in the show at all). Hopefully they’re easily identifiable!

Find the OC version of this fic here.

Title: Luna Wolf

Summary: Geralt finds you on the bleak path of revenge as you hunt the leshy that killed Eskel.

Words: 3518

“That wasn't our brother. Not by the end of it…

You saw nothing but the path ahead as you wove through the thick woods.

…And bitterness won't help us find what killed him.”

You whacked at a low-hanging branch with the sword gripped in your fist. Your jaw clenched so tight you could feel the bones grating against each other, hear the jarring noise reverberating in your ears along with the quickening thrum of your heart, but you didn’t care.

“Oh, I know what killed him.”

All you cared about was the monster you were following, and the feeling of metal sinking into its rotten flesh.

You rubbed the knuckles of your free hand furiously across your cheeks before the icy wind could freeze your tears. The moon was high in the sky, and you had been pacing after the monster’s invisible tracks for what must have been half an hour, unsure as to where you were going but certain you needed to be anywhere but Kaer Morhen. Your feet had taken you on this path, your mind fixed solely on the leshy that had killed Eskel.

“Come on, then.” Eskel stood back, his eyes lingering on Princess Cirilla of Cintra, as she had so eloquently just introduced herself, for the briefest of moments. He rubbed his hands together and looked expectantly between his brothers. “Where is she? Where is the pup?”

Lambert stuffed a roll in his mouth and spoke around it. “Last I heard, she was taking a shi—” You suddenly appeared with a painful kick to his leg, and he aimed the rest of his roll at your head.

“I was putting my stuff in my room, dickbert.” You picked up the bread, tossed it back at him, then turned to Eskel with the biggest grin you could muster. An understanding passed between you, one that had the witcher mirroring your grin before opening his arms wide. You felt a surge of excitement as you jumped forward and wrapped yourself around him. Your heart jumped at his noticeable hiss of pain, but he expertly covered it with a laugh and your joy caused you to momentarily push any apprehension away.

Eskel pressed kiss after kiss to the side of your head, resolving you to childish laughter he’d missed. “Time away from you has aged me, my Luna Wolf,” he said.

You grasped his hair, caked with mud and blood, and placed your own kiss on his cheek. “Well, you don’t look a day older than the last time I saw you.”

“Now, that’s a lie! Come here, you.”

There had been a moment at Kaer Morhen where you had felt whole. You had been home with Geralt and your family, safe and in a place where you could loosen your muscles without worrying about becoming the next monster’s food. Vesemir had been without serious concern, Lambert had been his usual sarcastic self, and Eskel had calmed every nerve you might have been harbouring with that single hug. The situation Geralt, and inadvertently you, had found himself in with his overdue Child of Surprise had simply not bothered you for a mere few hours as you made yourselves warm for the winter in the Keep.

You stumbled as your boot caught on an uprooted tree stump, and you stuck your arms out to steady yourself. For the first time in twenty absent-minded minutes of following tracks you couldn’t even see, your surroundings and your situation caught up to you. You stopped and the wind roared in your ears, the distant howl of a wolf mingled within it. Your loose hair flew viciously around you, slamming into your face, numb with cold, and scraping against your neck.

Once again, you reached up to wipe at your cheeks, finding that your hands were trembling. With cold or nerves, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that you wished to defeat it. That feeling of weakness. That—that horrid notion that you weren’t strong enough to protect those who had protected you for the entirety of your life.

With an angry snarl, you stepped over the tree and twisted your sword in your grasp, ignoring the wind and the numbness and renewing your desire to put your feet forward, one after the other, and kill something in need of killing.

“Who’s the princess?” Eskel broached the question as soon as he and you made it to the hallway and out of earshot of the others. “I mean, who is she really?”

You took his sword from his faltering hold, and he withheld any protest, rolling his shoulder back once the added weight was gone. You shrugged lightly. “A girl who’s lost a lot, I’ve come to realise,” you said. You and Ciri were no longer at odds with each other, and with your new truce came solidarity. You had accepted Ciri’s position in your relationship with Geralt. “She’s alright,” you added, “not at first. We didn’t get on, if you can believe it.” Eskel rose an eyebrow and his lips drew upwards in a knowing smirk. “Anyway.” At his obvious amusement you moved to walk backwards and in front of him. You eyed his shoulder. “Your arm. I know you’ve hurt it.”

Eskel frowned and slowed a bit. “Hm?” He glanced at the limb in question. “Oh, no, no. I’m fine. This isn’t my blood.”

You stopped suddenly and Eskel almost walked straight into you. Before he could voice his surprise, you reached for his sleeve. “Now, that’s a lie,” you cheekily echoed. Then, serious, “No monster bleeds red like that.”

“Have you become a nagger in the last couple years or is it just Vesemir’s influence—alright. Hey. Let me have a look at you instead.” He didn’t let you touch his skin, pushing your hands away before they could get beneath his shirt. Instead, he grasped your shoulders and plastered a grin on his face, pushing you far enough away so he could look at you properly. “Gods,” he gasped out dramatically, “you’re a woman now, aren’t you? We’ve finally reached the dreaded day, haven’t we?”

You rolled your eyes and shoved his fingers as they went to jab at your stomach, though a smile pulled at your lips all the same. “Master of deflection,” you accused.

Eskel quirked a brow and draped an arm over your shoulders. He turned you so you could continue walking down the hall and leaned his cheek against you head. “I think I’ll have a party tonight, Luna. What do you think?”

The wind continued to batter your face and the sky had since opened to let the first drops of rain spill. You could feel your boots sinking into the damp ground and your heart was beating a mile a minute.

You fell so suddenly you had no time to reach out and break your landing. A winded breath left your lungs and you lay in the mud for a moment before readjusting your grip on your sword and using it to push yourself up. Once you got to your feet, your boot slipped, and you went down once more. Frustrated, dirty and completely overwhelmed, you grit your teeth and let out a scream before falling into exhausted sobs.

“What is that?” You stared at what could only be a leshy. You had never seen one before, had only heard about them during late night stories around the woodfire, but you stored images of all the monsters Geralt had conjured for you in your mind, and the monster in front of you now matched the leshy’s description.

But this leshy, or whatever it was, was oddly, frighteningly human-like. It moved in a familiar way, a weird thing to say for a monster, but this monster didn’t seem entirely that. All instincts in you were muffled for a moment as you watched it shift quickly around the laboratory.

Your grip tightened on your sword. You’d grabbed it before running to where you could hear the throes of a fight.

Geralt stopped attacking the monster in order to whip his head around at your sudden voice. An abrupt panic overcame his face at the sight of you there—you were a good fighter, of course you were, but no matter your age and experience, his panic would always be justified—but he was forced back into battle before he could order you away.

“The door!” Vesemir called. you darted out of the way of the doorway before Geralt could shove you out. He noted your cleverness with a very audible growl but aimed his magic at the opening nevertheless, sending a bolt of magic through to block it from the leshy’s escape. The leshy sent him flying straight after.

You sprung into action, crying out as you sped forward and attacked the scattered wooden limbs with vigour. The monster fought back as Geralt recovered, then focused its attention on all three of its opponents.

You had never fought with Vesemir before, and perhaps in another situation you might have taken notice of such a big thing, such a big accomplishment, but something was strange about this leshy. You weren’t even sure it was a leshy at all.

In a short time, you had the monster pinned.

“Eskel,” Vesemir said, peering up at it. “We need time. We can save you.”

It was then your mouth went dry.

You turned and closed your hand around a clump of soaked mud, pushing yourself up until you could get to your feet. You barely took one step forward before a hand grasped your wrist and you whirled around, the witcher instincts within you causing you to lash out with your sword at whoever had caught you. The clang of metal against metal resounded throughout the forest as your blade met Geralt’s. He had lifted it just in time, his other hand still wrapped around your own.

His face was a mixture of emotions you were too tired to decipher. Concern? Shock? Did the clenching of his jaw mean he was angry? It usually did, but the look in his eyes told you otherwise.

Slowly, Geralt lowered his sword, but he didn’t let go of your hand.

“Y/N…” he said, his words slow and his voice quiet. Deep. Something you could hardly hear above the noise of the growing storm.

You tugged on your hand, but his strength didn’t waver. Your nostrils flared and your vision bleared with tears as your emotions heightened tenfold. In a sudden flutter of frustration that you couldn’t quite place, you lashed out once more, giving Geralt barely enough time to shoot his sword up to block your hit.

“Y/N!” Geralt’s voice was strained as he struggled against the wooden arm pinning him to the wall. “You need to move!”

You panicked. You had been helping in the fight all you could, hitting at a branch when it got too close and stabbing at parts of Esk—the monster where you couldn’t quite hurt it. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you to do more. You could do more, you’d been taught to do more by the very people you should be helping in this room, but there was a bigger part of your mind that could only see Eskel. Because beneath the monster, there he was. He really, achingly, truly was.

“Y/N!” That was Vesemir. Your head snapped to look at him. A branch was holding him by the neck, squeezing the very life out of him. You wanted nothing more than to cut the branch in half, but that was Eskel. It was Eskel. Your Eskel.

“Y/N!”

“Y/N!” Geralt had let go of your arm. He was taking quick steps back, forced to with the power in his child’s flustered hits. There was no fight in his own strikes. He was defending himself and nothing more.

“Hey,” he tried, “it’s me! It’s Geralt!”

“I won’t go back!” you shouted, gasping with the force of your own blows. “I’m finding the leshy and I’m going to kill it!”

Geralt’s brows furrowed and he stopped moving. He took your hits, blocking them from where his feet remained planted to the floor. “Everyone is worried for you,” he said.

“No! They all think I killed Eskel!” Your voice broke as you slammed your sword against his. “And I did!” Another. “I drove my sword through him! I killed him!” And another. “I killed Eskel!” Tears poured down your face and sobs spilled from your lips as Geralt took it all. “He’s dead, and it’s my fucking fault!”

At that, Geralt pushed against your sword with his own, twisting it harshly and so suddenly, in a way that had it falling from your grasp. You paused, exhausted, as it fell to the ground, clattering against the rock. Before you could pick it up, Geralt had grabbed you. He spun you around and held your back to his chest, his arms crossed in front of you, your wrists in his hands. You seemed to accept it quickly, succumbing to your emotion as you bent over his arms and fell into uncontrollable sobs.

Geralt dropped his head to speak into your ear. “We killed the leshy. Together,” he stated simply, loud enough for you to hear. The rain was heavier, tumbling through the leaves of the trees. “There is no blame, Y/N. We did what we had to, to save Vesemir. To save our home and the other witchers. And—” He gently lowered you both to the ground—“to save Eskel.”

“Give me your sword, Y/N!” Geralt had one hand on the leshy as it pinned him to the wall and the other trapped beneath him. He did not have the means nor strength to kill the monster alone, and you knew that. Still, as you went to do as you were told, wrapping your hands tightly around the hilt of your sword, you kne you didn’t have the strength either.

It was when you heard him choke that the strength finally found you. The sound of Geralt’s pain had you fleetingly forgetting Eskel. Instinctively, you lifted your sword so he could glide his free hand across the blade until it glowed. “I don’t think I can do it.”

“We’ll do it together,” Geralt said. He grasped the hilt and waited for you to grab his hand before you both pushed together. The blade pierced the leshy’s wooden hide with a spray of sunset sparks and the leshy screeched, dropping Vesemir.

You met the leshy’s eyes as it writhed and fell to the floor, and realised they were still his.

The rain soaked the two kneeling in the mud. As you fell limply against Geralt, he loosened his hold and turned you in his arms, pulling your head to rest against his shoulder. His other hand went to your back, keeping you against him. Impulsively, you curled your hands in Geralt’s tunic, holding onto the fabric for dear life as you buried your face into his shoulder.

Geralt tipped his face and rested his lips against the top of your head. He shut his eyes and ignored the feeling of water streaking down the back of his shirt. He had been searching for you for an agonising while, calling after you in the forest, following any footprints he could make out. Lambert had regretted his words the moment he’d said them but was too proud to have stopped you before you left the room. He couldn’t have known your first impulse would be to take up your sword and leave the Keep in search for the leshy, anyway. Geralt had, of course, but he knew you best. Knew where your anger could take you. He’d run after you the moment Ciri had told him she’d looked all around but couldn’t find you.

“Lambert didn’t mean what he said,” Geralt promised. “He was angry. We all are.”

You shook your head. “He was right.”

“No.”

“I should have pressed him. He was hurt. I could tell. I should have made him tell me.” Your words were muffled but loud enough for him to hear.

Geralt sighed as he stroked the lengths of your hair down your back. “No, Y/N.”

You seemed as though you might have said something more, but at the last second a pitiful noise escaped your lips instead, and you dropped your head against his chest. You grasped his shoulders and clenched the wet fabric of his shirt even more.

Noiselessly, Geralt reached into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew a medallion. The rain immediately washed the rest of the red off. He ran his thumb across the wolf emblem before he took one of your hands and pressed it into your palm.

“This is yours,” he said quietly. “It was in his pocket. He made another. Vesemir and I found it before we buried him.”

You wore your original medallion, the first Eskel had made for you, around your neck. You hadn’t removed it since he’d put it there on your eleventh birthday. It wasn’t like the witchers’ medallions, of course, but the meaning was there all the same, every nook and carved line of the young wolf pup calming you each time your fingers ran across them.

Blinking to clear the haze, you brought the new medallion, its metal cold against your skin, up to your face. You stared at it for a long time. The wolf had grown. This was a full-fledged adult, its mouth roaring in the centre of the medallion, teeth on full display. A full moon shone behind it.

“He called you Luna Wolf because she is the leader of the pack,” Geralt said, knowing you knew but needing to remind you all the same. “As you have always been ours. He does not blame you.”

You could say nothing more as you closed your hand around the medallion and drew it closer to your chest. You turned your face further into him and hid yourself from the world.

Geralt, meanwhile, stared grim-faced at the path ahead. He had one hand on the back of your head, the other wrapped around you, holding you close to him. The rain was lashing down and he could feel you trembling beneath him, but he knew neither of you would be moving for a while.

He would find the leshy. He had decided on that probably around the time you had. You were connected in that way, a need for vengeance brought upon solely by a broken heart. He feared he’d taught you that. But he’d find it when you were sleeping, with a number of eyes on you to ensure you wouldn’t leave to follow him. He refused to let you. It wouldn’t achieve what you thought it would.

You finally crumpled in Geralt’s hold, your body slacking. You were a wolf pup all over again between the legs of your father, his arms around you, his head over yours, protecting you from more than just the rain.

“He does not blame you,” Geralt whispered again. “I swear to you, little one. He loved you more than life.”

You knew.

“What is it?”

“Shh.” Eskel put a finger to his lips and stretched his leg out to kick the door closed. The witchers were often up hunting at all hours of the night; they couldn’t afford to lose any lie-ins.

You put your own little finger to your lips in acknowledgement and shifted yourself under your covers, sitting cross-legged. Usually, it was you who woke the witchers on the morning of anyone’s birthday, your childish heart desperate to get the day of—typically lacklustre—celebrations started, but this morning, before the sun had even risen above the mountains across the Keep, Eskel had been the one to sneak into your room and wake you with the promise of presents.

“Open it and see.” Eskel brought his legs up and tucked them beneath him. He sat at the corner of the bed, a small grin on his face as he watched you unwrap his gift from the leaf he’d tied around it. He felt like an excited child himself, and he let himself sink in it. He had been waiting some time for you to spend your next birthday at Kaer Morhen, and the day had finally come.

You let loose a small gasp. You picked up the metal circle and even with the lack of light, the witcher could see the pure sparkle in your eyes. Your silence told him all. You ran your little thumb across the surface in awe before launching yourself at him.

Eskel let you push him back on the bed, laughing softly. He squeezed you then, relishing in your little arms around his neck. “Am I to take this as a sign that you like it?”

“My very own medallion!” you said in his ear. “I love it! I love it so much! I’m finally one of you!”

“Oh, little Luna. You’ve always been one of us. You don’t need a medallion to prove it.”

Yes. You knew.

Witcher Masterpost

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inkformyblood · 4 months

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some monster hunter you are (The Witcher, Eskel x Lambert x Geralt; Geralt x Jaskier)

Eskel, Lambert, and Geralt go to a bar after a hunt and they meet Jaskier. [Modern AU, Modern Witchers, AroAce Eskel, Established Relationship] Eskel checks the soles of his boots, dragging the edge of his nail along something that could’ve been mud or blood or any combination of the two, and swings his legs up onto the table. Lambert, without looking, still barely even breathing since they first slumped into the narrow booth, swipes at the tailing end of his lace, twisting the narrow cord around his fingers. It’s as effective as a leash and Eskel huffs back a snort that still tastes like ichor no matter how many drinks they have worked their way through. He draws his boot back, tipping his foot to avoid the bottle balanced on top of the pile of empty cans and a handful of discarded glasses, and shoves his foot onto Lambert’s lap instead. The other man is solid, barely shifting with a grunt at the impact.

He begins to untie Eskel’s lace, drawing the cord tight before redoing it. “What?”

The air itself is sticky to say nothing of the floor beneath their booth, a cloying sweet scent that invades every pore and would keep them humming at an uneven keel for the next few days until the rest of the potions bleed out of their systems. Eskel braces himself against the low slouch of the booth seating, decades of barely-wiped down grime clinging to his palms. He’ll scrub them raw in the bathroom later, trying to scour down to his clean bones without too much damage. He doesn’t need much height to peer over the teeming crowd, they’re already built tall and broad and that natural inclination had only been enhanced over the years, and he could see Geralt in the pitch black after his eyes had been plucked out. Eskel isn’t attracted to people, not in that way, not really, but he knows that Geralt is beautiful the same way he knows the sunset is compelling and sometimes all he needs is to sleep for a day and fuck someone until the knot in his belly is gone. It isn’t a relationship, not in the conventional sense, they’re far too close for that simple word to apply. They just are .

“Someone’s chatting to Geralt.”

Lambert snorts, tugging the knot on Eskel’s laces tight. His movements are mechanical, the same actions a thousand times over executed the same way every single time, and he finishes with a tap to the middle of Eskel’s calf. “And? People do talk to Geralt for some reason.”

It is his silver hair, Eskel thinks. Somehow natural through the same potions that lengthened their teeth and burned their irises gold from the inside out and Geralt walks away with silver hair that draws every desperate soul in a two thousand yard radius to fling themselves at his feet. Sometimes literally. The man at the bar seems much the same as any other drowning idiot who looks at Geralt and sees a human life preserver instead of the rocks the lighthouse warns them away from. He’s different in that he looks like he could take a punch, possibly already has from the broken capillaries just starting to darken over the curve of his cheek that gleam in the low light, and he leans towards Geralt to try and immolate himself on the Witcher’s presence. His hair is dark, brushed back away from his face by some kind of product that smells nice. Like apples. Eskel breathes in deeply, filters out the tang of sweat and fear and far too much alcohol and bad decisions, and finds this man beneath it all. There’s plenty of mistakes lined up along his shoulders, a healing cut on his hand and another on his lip, but he’s interested, sharp and hot and focused on Geralt.

“This one is different,” Eskel murmurs, digging his heel into the meat of Lambert’s thigh. It’s a silent request, barely needing to be preceded by an action but they’re close, not quite family, not quite lovers, and what would he be if he didn’t take the opportunity to irritate Lambert? Lambert scoffs at him, swiping at the carefully balanced bottle and tips the remnants into his mouth from an arm-span away. The liquid is, somehow, pink. Lambert pushes himself onto one foot, the muscle in his thigh tensing as he does so. His hand falls, bottle still clutched between two fingers, to keep Eskel’s boot wedged in the seam of his thigh.

“That little thing?”

“Not little is he?”

“Solid.” Lambert kisses the back of his teeth, the beginning vibrating along Eskel’s jaw before it lowers into a normal register of sound. Geralt glances over at them. “Fuck, is he blushing?”

Fuck. Shit. Is he? Eskel pushes himself upright once more. Geralt’s gaze meets his, pointed like the pretty slip of a dagger Geralt carries in his boot, a matched set for the one that Eskel carries at his thigh and Lambert has tied around his neck like an oversized pendant. His eyes are still dark with the remnants of the potion, but the main colour is robbed by the expanse of his pupils, blown wide with interest. The colour on his cheeks wouldn’t be noticeable by anyone human, it is too subtle for that, but to Eskel’s eyes, the pink hue bleeds over Geralt’s cheeks, stretching from his hairline to jaw and dripping over his shoulders. He’d bet his pay from this job that the pink extends further, stopping somewhere over the planes of Geralt’s chest.

This night just got fun .

“Isn’t he off the posters?”

Eskel slants his gaze back at Lambert, tracking Geralt’s reluctant twist back to the man out of the corner of his eye. No. Not reluctant. Protective. His hackles are already up in defence of this man, this stranger, and the barrage of teasing Eskel and Lambert will unleash over him the moment he slinks back to their booth, company pulled along in his undertow or not. Lambert tips his head towards the far wall, his grin tight and starving. Eskel follows his indication, blinking once, twice, to clear the flickering spots from his vision as his eyes focus on the twisting dust motes before he can adjust and make out the posters. It is the same man although somehow more muted in print and ink than he is in person, a certain sparkling essence about him that doesn’t translate to a still image. “The amazing and astounding Jaskier on his debut tour,” Eskel reads, carefully sounding out the blocky print.

“Amazing and astounding seems like a stretch.”

“You called a milkshake amazing the other day.”

Lambert closes his eyes, the tip of his tongue poking out as he grins in bliss. There is something strangely canine about his expression, a dog lounging in the sun, it’s tongue hanging free from jaws stuffed with too many teeth, and Eskel bites back a laugh. He shoves his boot into the line of Lambert’s hip instead and the other man shifts with a groan, his eyes snapping open and away to the bar.

“That man is touching Geralt.”

No. No, he couldn’t be so ignorant of every instinct flattened into his brain and braided into muscle and bone. Humans were taught to ignore the itch of discomfort at the back of their thoughts, the sinking hollow in their stomach that something wasn’t right whenever they encountered something like the monsters the Witchers had been made to kill, but they listened when those same instincts screamed about the Witchers themselves. They were necessary, but not wanted. Something for humans to flirt with the concept of and retreat at the first opportunity, entranced and repulsed in equal measures.

Eskel pushes himself up again. Lambert is right. The man, Jaskier if the posters are to be believed, has curled himself into the barely-there space in front of Geralt, one hand playing with the delicate cocktail umbrella from his other drink and the other laid on Geralt’s forearm. Eskel blinks. Jaskier’s hand hasn’t moved.

“He is.”

“He isn’t pulling away.”

“No, he isn’t.”

“Neither is Geralt.”

“No.”

Eskel settles back into the booth, shoving his knuckle into his mouth and setting his teeth against the shattered topography of his knuckle. He breathes out through his nose in a slow hiss that doesn’t settle the snarl building in his chest, a brief burst of steam to keep a pressure gauge from tipping into the red. “Well, think we should go and introduce ourselves?”

“Yeah.” Lambert tips his head back, cracking his neck and Eskel winces, grinding his boot hell against Lambert’s thigh again, just because. “Let’s go say hello.”

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier x geralt #geraskier #jaskier #eskel #lambert witcher #eskel witcher #eskel x geralt x lambert #eskel x geralt #geralt x lambert #eskel x lambert #my writing #fanfic

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kueble · 1 year

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Wild Mint

This is not what I planned on doing tonight, but @justhereforeskel deserves something soft.

Teen. Warnings: Chronic injury. 1,300 words.

Eskel/Geralt

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The stairs never used to be this steep. Geralt is sure of it. Any other night he would have been fine, but Vesemir had pushed them all so much earlier. Hell, he skipped a warm dinner to haul his ass down to the hot springs, and even soaking alone for hours hasn’t dulled the pain in his knee.

With a grunt, he leans on the railing and pulls himself up the stairs, doing his best to ignore how fucking useless he feels. His body shouldn’t be fighting him like this. He was a finely-honed killing machine - according to every human he’s ever met - and he shouldn’t be hobbling up the gods-damned stairs like this. But it’s hard to win a battle against his own body, especially when it’s this angry at him.

Thankfully Eskel isn’t here to watch him suffer.

By the grace of some long-forgotten god, Geralt makes it to his room without running into anyone. Everyone is probably deep in their cups at this point, and as much as he’d love to be down in the main hall with them, the throbbing in his knee says what a horrible idea that is. He’s tried to drown the pain away many nights like this and yet the pain lingers come morning.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, throwing open the door to his room while he tries not to judge himself. No sense in being maudlin at this point. He’s an old bastard, and his body just finally caught up with his age.

“Language, Wolf,” Eskel calls out, and Geralt nearly trips over himself trying not to look shocked. How bad does his pain have to be for him to not notice the second heartbeat in their room. He runs a hand over his face and tries to think of an excuse to be alone, to not show his faults.

“Just tired is all,” he whispers, and one look at Eskel lets him know his lover isn’t buying it.

“Please, I know you,” Eskel scuffs. “Could tell how much damage that last tumble did the second you rolled on your bad knee. Let me take care of it.”

“No need,” Geralt says gruffly, because he’s not some spoiled maiden. He’s a fucking witcher, and that should matter. His body should listen to him, damnit.

“Let me rephrase that,” Eskel says softly, “let me take care of you. You’re allowed to have a bad day, especially with a knee like yours.”

“No, I’m not,” Geralt argues, his tone harsher than he likes. “Witchers don’t get bad days. Fuck, I shouldn’t even have a bad knee. Things like that get you killed. Probably should have died from this fucking injury in the first place. Wouldn’t be in so much pain if I had.”

“Shut your stupid mouth and listen to me,” Eskel growls at him, stomping over the room to stand in front of him. “You want me to be dead? Because it’s hard for any creature to live without its heart beating in its chest. And that’s you. You’re my heart, asshole, so let me take care of you and we’ll both feel better for it come morning.”

“You’ve gone soft,” Geralt whispers, but he’s smirking as Eskel takes him by the shoulders and guides him over to the bed.

“Not what you told me last night,” he says, chuckling as he starts to undo Geralt’s laces. “No funny business tonight, though. You’re going to let me massage your bad leg, coat it in that horrible mint salve that will have us both tingling for days, and then I’m going to make sure you don’t move for the rest of the night. You can fuck me once you can kneel on the bed without cringing,” he says, laughing as Geralt shakes his head and gives in.

He should have known there was no hiding this, not from Eskel. They’ve been living in each other’s pockets since they were kids, and there’s never been a secret between them. Well, not since that awkward first year on the path full of missed connections and ridiculous pining. No, they’re on even ground nowadays, and life’s better for it.

He wants to say something sappy, something his bard would put in a flowery song, something that would stick to his tongue and sound honey-sweet, but that’s not how they work. They don’t need pretty words to know how they feel. He can hear it in the slow beat of Eskel’s heart, in the warm heat of his gaze as they lock eyes. They both know how much love is there.

So instead, he lets Eskel strip him down and help him into a soft pair of nightclothes. He sits on the edge of the bed like a good boy while Eskel gets himself ready, slurping up the still-warm bowl of stew Eskel shoves at him with a pointed look. Got it. No more skipping meals. By the time his bowl is empty, Eskel is dressed and the fire has been properly stoked. He sets the bowl on their bedside table to become tomorrow’s problem and sprawls back against their pillows.

“Isn’t it much easier when you let me boss you around?” Eskel asks, grinning as he crawls onto the bed and sits by Geralt’s thighs. He uncaps the jar of salve and the stinging scent of wild mint fills the air.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Geralt snorts, but he offers a wide smile and gestures down at his injured knee. “Do your worst.”

“How about I do my best instead?” Eskel whispers, and Geralt has to turn to look at the fire because his chest suddenly feels too tight. Emotions are always closer to the surface - just waiting to bubble up and flow out of him - when he hurts like this.

Eskel works in silence, but it’s a comfortable one. Eventually Geralt turns to watch him work, his body going limp under Eskel’s strong hands. His tanned skin looks so harsh against Geralt’s milky complexion, but they fit together so well. He loses himself in the warm movements, letting Eskel drain the pain from him. He knows it will never really go away, but he’s able to ignore it once Eskel finishes.

“Thank you,” he whispers, barely a sound at all, and Eskel just smiles at him. His scar pulls at his lip, his tooth poking out, and anyone else would find it offputting, but it just looks like home to him. Eskel nods before getting off the bed to put the salve away and wash up in the basin by the fire. Geralt feels so relaxed he could fall asleep any second, but he forces himself to stay awake until Eskel comes back.

“Too lazy to get under the covers?” Eskel teases him, rolling Geralt so he can tug the furs out from under him.

“What can I say? You’ve got good hands.”

“Good mouth, too,” Eskel tells him, and Geralt rolls his eyes in response.

But then he’s moving, leaning in to capture Eskel’s mouth in a gentle kiss. There’s no heat behind it, but his body lights up just the same. Even after all these years, every time they touch sparks something deep inside of him. Shoving that down, Geralt turns his face and presses a softer kiss to Eskel’s scarred cheek.

“Love you, too,” he mumbles before rolling over onto his side. As expected, Eskel follows him, curling up against his beck and throwing a heavy arm over his hips. The last thing he feels is Eskel’s breath against the back of his neck.

---

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#my fic #eskralt #geskel #geralt x eskel #eskel x geralt #the witcher #tw3

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caedes12 · 22 hours

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All the players are getting together! I had fun writing this chapter. I played All is Not What it Seems from the Netflix Witcher show for INSPO.

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher) Characters: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Letho z Gulety | Letho of Gulet, Serrit (The Witcher), Egan | Auckes (The Witcher), Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden (The Witcher) Additional Tags: Political Alliances, Building a Kingdom, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Non-human ish, fay jaskier, Communicating your feelings, Geralt will learn how to talk I swear, Polyamory Series: Part 2 of Kingdom Come Summary:

Getting the kingdom was easy, keeping it would be harder. Ciri needs allies of Cintran nobles to legitimize her reign. Jaskier will need the help of every ally to make sure the fragile kingdom will not be taken over by NIlfgaard. Instead of plucking his lute, he will be pulling the strings of Ciri's future court to make sure she has everything she needs to be the Queen she was meant to be.

Sequel to Once Burned

#geralt x jaskier #jaskier x eskel #eskel x geralt #witcher fanfiction #kingdom building

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ooksaidthelibrarian · 4 months

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Eskel had a wild suspicion where Geralt was headed, but he was far from sure. The only thing he knew was that Geralt was not headed to some wine tasting with Count Whatshisname. Geralt has a secret, and Eskel wants to know

A Kind of Magic

Fandom: Witcher (Video Games) Rating: G Words: 1525

Read it on AO3

Written for Witcher Wheel of the Year 2023, the prompt was Theatre

#the witcher #gereskel #geralt of rivia #eskel #eskel x geralt #tw3 #the witcher 3 #witcherwheeloftheyear

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katthekitkatlord · 2 years

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Geralt and Eskel are both orca’s here. Just a sketch while I find my groove!

#eskel #eskel fanart #geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt fanart #the witcher #my art #sketch #mermay #mermay 2022 #eskel x geralt #geralt x eskel

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lovelyscot · 1 year

Text

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whataboutthefish · 2 years

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Day 18

Prompt 18 Glory Hole | Shotgunning | Somnophilia

Geralt/Eskel, Consensual somnophilia, Somnophilia, Established relationship, Rimming, Anal sex

Words 1487

Written for an anon prompt on Tumblr

When Eskel entered Geralt’s chamber, he saw the Witcher spread out across his bed, laying on his stomach with his arm tucked under the pillow white hair fans out across his face, and his eyes were closed.

Geralt arrived late in the night, Vesemir the one awake to greet him with hearty stew and strong ale. The wolf went to his chamber, barely making it to the bed before he passed out. When Eskel rose before sunrise to get a start on the chores for the day he noticed Geralt’s scent and went searching.

To find his brother like this, wearing nothing but his smalls and sleeping deeply, Eskel purred. Geralt hadn’t made it under the covers, hell, he’d barely made it to the bed. Sprawled out diagonally, light snores had his shoulders rising and falling softly. .

Eskel was gentle with his touches as he rearranged Geralt’s body, pushing his legs up onto the bed and moving an arm from under his chest lest it go dead. Geralt groaned in his sleep, a sleepy, satisfied noise now that he was more comfortable. Taking a long moment to scan the skin on display, noting the new scars and looking for any permanent injury, Eskel found none and let out the breath he’d not realised he was holding.

They were both home and safe, and that constant nagging thought, the one they all tried to tune out while on the path, finally calmed for another year. The worry that gripped tight around his heart letting go, leaving him with the ability to breathe deeply for the first time since he’d arrived back home. Eskel was often the first to return, being safe, warm and well fed was wonderful but he hated the way he would watch the gates until all his brothers were back.

Now was the fun part, he knew Geralt slept deeply when he returned, the damned wolf often pushed himself too hard, with little to no sleep, up the killer. An early snow storm had swept through a few days past, likely adding a day to Geralt’s travels. Which left Eskel here standing before Geralt’s sleeping form with only one thing on his mind; getting reacquainted with his mate.

Eskel stripped himself down to his smalls and crawled onto the bed, he noticed the remnants of a quick sponge down scattered around the room, Geralt hadn’t bathed properly before passing out. The scent of several hard days on the road was still there, but leaning in Eskel nosed at the hairs at Geralt’s nape, scenting his mate he could pick out the scents that were uniquely Geralt and everything Eskel equated with home.

He dragged his teeth over the sensitive flesh of Geralt's nape, a delighted growl spilling out as he watched the gooseflesh break out over Geralt’s neck and down his back. Soft lips replaced teeth, kissing and licking over Eskel’s favourite spot right behind his mate's ear. Geralt let out a sigh, his eyelids fluttered as somewhere in his dreams he was feeling Eskel’s every touch.

“That’s it, Wolf, you just relax. I'll take care of you.” Eskel whispered into Geralt’s skin.

Discussed long ago, it had been decided that the heavy dregs of sleep shouldn’t stop them, , not when they were so desperate from their time apart. As mates, they both needed it, craved it, and so without hesitation, Eskel curled closer, pressing kisses to Geralt’s body. . Eskel would never say it outloud, but this moment, being with Geralt, was why he returned early to the icy keep in the mountains.

Dark hair dangled loose around his face, and Eskel followed the curve of Geralt’s back, kissing him lightly, licking over his mate’s sensitive skin. The white wolf grumbed into his pillow, muscles twitching slightly at the feathered touch.

“Always so ticklish,” Eskel murmured, a smile pulling at his scared lips.

When he reached Geralt’s ass he took a moment to lick over one particular scar. The scar was well known to him, a set of teeth marks that matched his own bite perfectly. This was a scar for them, one given with pleasure. He set his teeth over the indentations and growled low in his chest, pleased. Shifting in his sleep, Geralt’s hips lifted, his ass pushing into Eskel’s bite and making him chuckle.

“I’ve got you, wolf,” Eskel said, kissing over the scar and moving on.

Gently sliding an arm under Geralt’s waist, with a slight shift Eskel pulled a pillow under Geralt’s hips, Eskel’s hardening cock brushed against the wolf’s thigh as he removed his grip and lowered Geralt onto the pillow.

The angle was perfect for what Eskel had in mind. Lowering himself onto his stomach and settling between Geralt’s legs, Eskel hands drifted up Geralt’s thighs. He could hardly control the rumble in his chest as he stared down at Geralt; the promise of what was to come had his cock straining against the cotton sheets, soft with age. .

Eskel took a moment to nibble at the crease of Geralt’s thigh, another of his favourite places, and when he touched over this spot Geralt made a noise that was like music to his ears. Still sleeping, Geralt whimpered into the pillow, encouraging Eskel to repeat the action just so he could hear that sound again.

His hands cupped Geralt’s plump ass, fingers squeezing into the dimpled flesh, and Eskel growled as he exposed his mate’s hole. Grinning, Eskel dove in. He was done with the tease, done with taking his time, and eagerly licked a long line from taint to tail bone, delighting in the sighs coming from Geralt.

He took his time enjoying Geralt’s ass, licking, sucking and nibbling at his rim, listening to the sweet sounds and watching as his mate’s body responded even in sleep. He slipped the tip of his tongue into Geralt’s ass, testing the resistance. Purring as he was allowed entry, Eskel pushed into the tight muscle, gentle and slow until Geralt was open enough for Eskel to tongue fuck him in earnest.

Spitting over Geralt’s hole, Eskel teased his rim with the flat of his thumb, before reaching for the vial of oil, Eskel drizzled the liquid over Geralt’s crack, watching as it ran down his mate’s tailbone.Gathering the oil with his thumb, Eskel massaged the slick around Geralt’s rim, then poured more into his hand to slick his fingers.

Circling Geralt’s rim with the pad of his finger, Eskel tapped the tight furl of muscle before returning to his circling. When he was satisfied, Eskel dipped his finger in, happy when he was met with little resistance, Geralt was relaxed and soft in sleep. It didn’t take much for Eskel to be three fingers deep and teasing over Geralt’s prostate with every slide out, Geralt was loose and ready and Eskel was desperate to slide into his mate.

He pulled his fingers free from Geralt, watched as his mate grumbled into the pillow, eyebrows furrowed. Eskel chuckled and stroked a hand over Geralt’s back soothing him as he travelled up his body, replacing his hand with soft kisses scattered over Geralt’s shoulders. Eskel was hard and dripping pre, leaving a small damp spot on the sheets where he’d been laying.

Slicking his cock Eskel hovered over Geralt’s sleeping form, tapping the head over Geralt's rim, taking himself in hand, he watched as his cock caught on Geralt’s hole, pushing forward until the muscle gave way and Eskel was sliding home.

Geralt was tight and hot, and Eskel sank into the heat, relishing the feel of his mate. Pressing forward until he was fully seated, Eskel nosed at the back of Geralt’s neck, clenching his teeth hard, the need to fuck Geralt into the mattress overwhelming. But this wasn’t the right time, in this moment Eskel was focused on pulling more soft noises from Geralt until he woke, gasping on his cock.

Eskel’s hips shifted, grinding into Geralt, his movements were deep, barely pulling out and enjoying the tight heat. Geralt’s breaths were coming more rapidly and Eskel could tell he was on the brink of waking. He leant in and sucked a bruise onto Geralt’s neck, pumping his hips swallowly so that the head of his cock teased Geralt’s prostate.

A moment more and Geralt’s eyelids fluttered open, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, an erotic moan slipping past parted lips, Eskel answering with his own moan.

“Hmm, missed you,” Geralt murmured, his face still buried in the pillow.

“Missed you more,” Eskel replied, pulling out until he almost slipped free before pumping back in, harder now.

Geralt’s breath hitched then he groaned, “Eskel,” he asked, begged.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Eskel answered, nibbling on Geralt’s earlobe.

“Fuck me, please,”

“As you wish,” Eskel replied, capturing Geralt’s mouth in a searing kiss before shifting his weight and giving into his urges to fuck Geralt into the mattress.

#Kinktober #Kinktober 2022 #A very witcher Kinktober #my writing #eskel x geralt #somno

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