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winters-mistress · 23 days

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Of gentle wolves and healing princesses

It's a slow process, all things considered. It had been impressive enough that Ciri had even woken up from her injury at all, let alone begun to heal from it. Vesemir tells the twice grassed pup that even fully grown witchers have fallen from injuries like that one. But still, the girl awakens.

Because of the fall, her head had been banged up pretty tightly, Eskel and Vesemir taking turns changing the bandages and boil washing them in their best bet to ward off infection. But as the days go by, Geralt watches Cirilla remain awake for stretches longer and longer, even starting to respond to stimuli and respond to questions at the end of the first week of bed boundness.

Coën takes to slowly maneuvering her limbs as she's in bed. Bending her knees and extending her arms and rotating her torso. It's to keep her blood flowing, he tells the wolves, before admonishing them for their lack of knowledge on the clotting of human blood. Not enough movement could still the blood and kill her just as easily as the fall or infection could. Geralt is just greatful the Griffin has the instinct to take such good care of the white wolf's pup, for his instinct is to still protect the girl fiercely.

Lambert is the least helpful when it comes to Cirilla's recovery. He drank himself into a stupor the first night she had fallen, and had his face pummelled in by Geralt on the second. It had taken all four of the other witchers to separate them both, the two growling witchers thrashing as they fought with fists flying instead of the wooden swords of their youth.

By the start of week two, Ciri can swallow broth and thin soups, can move her body after vials of pure poppyseed milk to stop the pain, and Geralt is relieved when the bandages come off that reveal a clean wound, sewn up and sealing over with scabs and iodine. They keep a bandage on there just in case, but nowhere as dramatic as the others she had been wearing all that week.

After the wound is closed, Eskel and Coën and Geralt wash Cirilla's hair clean of the multitude of fluids that maar the girl's pretty blonde hair. Vesemir took the time to brew up a soup with small cooked root vegetables, while Lambert was scheduled to make more healing potions thag wouldn't melt the poor girls insides.

By week three, Cirilla can wash herself with a flannel and eat thick soups of barley and potato. She can sit up by herself now and hold a slow conversation. Her words are slow, slurred and take a while longer to understand their responses. Lambert drinks himself into a bucket again, and Vesemir tans his hide for it.

Geralt is impressed as the girl begins to get restless in her bedrest and sees the spark returning as she tries to get up and explore. He feels like Vesemir when he tells her that she needs to walk before she can run, but will stay by her side as she steadies herself and holds her hands as she climbs to her feet.

The witchers are honestly mighty impressed that it takes them only a day to start walking the length and around Ciri's room, and only another fir her yo walk from one wall to the next without Geralt's hands to support her, even if she falls into them when she's scaled this hurdle.

Day by day, they walk a little further in the keep and Geralt carries her less and lesson their way back. Her words get quicker in speed and understanding and the promises of a visit yo the horses or the hunting dogs or the livestock keep Cirilla motivated when she cannot put one foot in front if the other anymore.

But they get there, one step at a time, a harem of large, mutated witchers and a pretty princess who has just as much strength as them.

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spellwing777 · 1 year

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Baby bats can sound similar to human babies, apparently.

#suddenly witchers #mages tweaked the baseline settings of humans for 'protec babby' when making witchers #they knew the attrition rate for children is stupidly high because that's what predators-natural and supernatural-target #It also probably endears them a bit more to communities if they go out of their way to save children #which is a good way to NOT get your terrifying super soldiers lynched at every opportunity #well #usually at least #Plus since they take in unwanted kids and the attrition rate on baby witchers is high AF as it is #it would help if they y’know had incentive to readily bond with non-kin and protect the surviving ones they have #so now they have this habit of running full tilt towards the sound of screaming infants on instinct #or in this case screaming plumard pups #Cutagens | Cute Effects of Mutagens (The Witcher)#cutagens #the witcher #dettlaff van der eretein #detty the bathabber #lambert #eskel #geralt of rivia #witcher games

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queenxxxsupreme · 2 years

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Hello! Could I please request a Netflix!Eskel imagine where he's protective/defensive? Him and the reader are in a relationship and maybe while stopped at an inn, another man gets a little too friendly with the reader if that makes sense. Thank you so much for your time, you are very appreciated :)

A/N: Two birds with one stone! I hope you guys enjoy this. I miss tree man :(

Warnings: nothing outside of canon, this is Netflix!Eskel so he isn’t our sweet baby, use of the c word derogatorily

“Are you sure you don’t need a hand, doll?”

“I can handle everything just fine.” You looked over to him as you fastened the holster belt around your waist.

“Then why are you taking your daggers?” Eskel raised his brows, eyeing the two blades as you picked them up from the end table by the bed.

“I like to be prepared. Aren’t you the one always chastising me for not being ready for anything?” It was your turn to raise a brow.

He grinned just a little. He leaned back on one elbow, relaxing a bit on the bed.

“Still, I didn’t like the crowd that was out there earlier.”

“You never like the crowds unless they are full of topless women.” You rolled your eyes. He smirked. “I’ll be back with our drinks in a few minutes.”

“If you aren’t back within a reasonable amount of time, I will come for you.”

“Is that a threat, Master Witcher?” You stopped in the doorway to look back at him.

“It’s a promise, Madam Huntress.” The sly smirk on his lips made your heart race.

You closed the door behind yourself and began to make your way down to the tavern.

The crowd was just as rowdy as it had been when the both of you arrived a few hours earlier. Ladies were dancing on tables. Men were drunkenly singing and laughing, cheering the ladies on.

You made your way to the bar to order drinks. You leaned against the countertop and waited patiently for the barkeep to move down to you. It would take him a few minutes with how busy he was.

Out of the corner of your eye, someone came up on your left.

“Good evening, love.”

You pretended to not hear him and instead kept your eyes on the barkeep.

“How much?” The man next to you rested his elbows on the bartop, bumping you with his elbow. You were almost positive he did it on purpose.

“I’m not a working lady.” You sent him a brief glare out of the corner of your eye.

“Well, that’s a damn shame. I’d sure fancy a night.”

Knowing this man wouldn’t take a hint if it hit him in the face– and it was about to –you turned to face him.

“If you fancy your life, you’d turn and leave.”

He laughed as if you had told a joke. He reached out to brush his hand over your hair, but you smacked his hand away.

“Do not put your hands on me, whoreson.” You hissed.

“Perhaps you should learn to take a compliment, bitch.” The man stepped towards you as a means of intimidation. His breath was fowl as he spoke down on you.

“She told you to fuck off, dumb prick.”

You looked behind the man to see Eskel approaching. His shoulders were squared and his eyes were tense. He was ready to fight.

“Who the hell are you?” The man pushed himself away from the bartop, unafraid of Eskel.

You moved to stop Eskel, putting your hand on his chest.

“Eskel–,”

“Y/N, go upstairs–,”

“Come with me.” You pushed against his chest, urging him to ignore the man. You would have started a fight with the jerk if Eskel wasn’t around, but being that Eskel was there, you didn’t want to start anything. It never ended well, and you didn’t want to be run out of town.

“Better control your whore, brother. Else someone might make her pretty face look like yours.” The man gestured to Eskel’s face. “Maybe that’ll teach her some manners.”

“Teach her some manners?” Eskel repeated, taking a few steps forward.

You were useless in holding him back now. He was using his strength against you as he moved closer to the idiot who cluelessly egged on the witcher.

“Why don’t you fucking pick on someone your own size, you gods damned cunt?”

A crowd had started to gather around you three by now in anticipation of a good fight.

Your heart was beating faster and faster in your chest as you pulled at Eskel’s shirt, trying desperately to get him to stop. If he threw any punches tonight, he would definitely kill the man and the entire village would be after him.

“Enough! Eskel!” You raised your voice, fingers curling into his bicep.

He turned his head to look at you, nostrils flaring with anger.

“We are leaving.” You told him.

He held your gaze for a few moments just to make sure you were serious. You were, in fact, dead serious.

Without another glance to the man, Eskel turned and stormed away, pushing through the crowd. You followed behind him, making sure to keep your hand on the small of his back so that he knew you were with him.

***

You closed the door to the room behind yourself and leaned against it for a moment.

Eskel brushed his hands over his face, then back through his hair. He turned back to you, moving to stand boot to boot with you.

“Are you…. He didn’t put his hands on you, did he?” He asked quietly.

“No.” You shook your head. He nodded once, then turned to sit on the edge of the bed.

Silence filled the room. You gazed at your witcher for a while.

“Eskel, I-I couldn’t let you fight him because–,”

“I know.” He lifted his head to meet your gaze. The anger had dissipated and a more solemn look took its place. “Just…. I just feared something happened before I could get down there. Then when I got down there, he was calling you names and I…. just wanted to kick his ass.”

“I know. Me too.” You pushed yourself away from the door and moved to stand between his knees. “But we needed a place to rest tonight. An actual bed, not just a camp somewhere in the woods.”

“You don’t deserve that sort of treatment.” Eskel placed his hands on the backs of your thighs, pressing his head into your stomach.

“No, but I deserve how you treat me.” You brushed your hand over the back of his neck and head. “You treat me like a queen, and I enjoy every second of it.”

“I don’t understand men like him.”

“Well, Master Witcher. Men like you are few and far between. Men like him, unfortunately, are much more frequent.”

He lifted his head and looked up at you, giving you a chance to kiss him.

“To hell with men like him.”

Taglist: @samuraigrl89 @burningcoffeetimetravel @open--till--midnight @beautifulsweetschaos @gm_abbo @thefirelordm @here4thespice @many-fandoms-lover @one-eyed-captain-kinky @sparrowsparadise @bluscryn @blushingskywalker @buckysxgal @lady-of-glass-and-bone @super-calithehamm @invelda @eddyofthetruth @hc-geralt-23 @persephonehemingway @adhdhufflepuff @Purple-Tsuki @emperorpalpattitay @hargrovehoe @redpool @ale @invelda @eddyofthetruth @hc-geralt-23 @adhdhufflepuff @juliya3dangel @sakali03 @bitquirkydoe

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

#eskel x reader #eskel x reader fic #eskel x reader fluff #protective!eskel #netflix!eskel #netflix eskel #the witcher netflix #eskel witcher #kacey answers

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devilpetvolpe · 1 year

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The scars I carried for you

“What’s this?” the baritone voice startled the witcherling, he hadn’t heard the other witcher coming up behind him. He’d thought himself alone, the last of them to be up that night and allowed himself to relax. His neckline fell loose and unbuttoned. Were he using his usual glamor then he would have thought nothing of it but since Vesemir refused him use of it, he felt an extra level of bare.

He tried to tidy himself up, righting the collar when he heard the older approach. A gentle hand caught him by the neck though and stopped him. Eskel eased the fabric down farther, pulling it to one side to locate what he had seen. A thick hand bracketed where an old scar rests. The younger shivered when callouses caught the skin as Eskel brushed his thumb over it.

Now was not the first time he’d wished for his glamor. He knew it was too soon to be fully without it. While he enjoys attention he dislikes feeling too seen, especially in this moment. ”What’s this?” Eskel repeated, his voice low in volume and timber as he asked nearly in Jaskier’s ear. Another gentle touch caused a shiver down his spine.

“It’s,” an awful twisted stab wound, “uh, he” his throat constricted and he swallowed to alleviate it, “he liked the way it felt.” Jaskier explained carefully as if that conveyed all one would need to understand.

It did not, “What? The blade in his hand?”

Jaskier wet his lips. Shame weighed his gaze causing him to drop his head down further. “How it felt,” he repeated, emphasizing the word deliberately and carefully, “around him.” He allowed himself to get caught up in the memory for a moment. Mind tunneling in on one of many horrific memories.

He’d stabbed him from behind, blade having pierce threw the meat scraping the bone of his clavicle on its way out. All orifices clenched in his pain and again when he twisted it. The other side had a scar too, small in the dip under the bone. Small enough to pass as a mole or freckle.

Eskel sucked in a breath between clenched teeth at the implications. He pulled the shirt further away, stretching it in a way that if Jaskier were fully present would start a fit. He examined the area fully, aside from the twist of the blade there were little white marks making up an oval in the flesh. Teeth marks, a bite mark deep enough to draw blood, deep enough to scar. “Jul-” but he was cut off.

“I have the witcher prerogative,” his voice was haunting in its hollow. Spoken from a far off memory, “the build but not the training.” Eskel waited with breath held as the younger continued in that halting format. “It’s much harder to nullify the situation when it’s with men. Women are much simpler creatures.” Jaskier halfway came back to himself when Eskel squeezed his shoulder. “ but no less awful.” the last sentiment murmured morose and with more conviction.

There were many a bedfellow whom shown interest in Geralt for the novelty of it and then there were those who were interested in the lack of consequence. So many who’ve been screened by the bard as the interested party ask for a good word. He had a knack for it at his point. Could tell the one from the other. And if he thought they would give up if he were to turn them away then he never would have allowed himself to play the distraction.

Convince them that they wanted him rather than the Wolf. A quick twist of his ring and a flash of gold soaked eyes. Always with promises of testing his stamina, and other thresholds. Women clawing nails into his skin while they ride him, men who stab and cut or broken bones. He’d been told he thrashes beautifully the more intense the pain. And in the morning it would all vanish under a glamor, no need for concern and his precious White Wolf was safe and none the wiser.

The weight of Eskel’s forehead rested between his shoulder blades, grounding him in the here and now. His collar was righted and an arm wrapped around him keeping him close. “Thank you,” it was absurd being thanked for his suffering, “Thank you for taking care of him.” The other’s hand clenched in the cloth over his chest. He couldn’t help but feel like it was one of the only things keeping him together in this exact moment.

In an almost detached movement he reached up to wipe the tears from his own eyes. “It’s what you do for love,” for twenty years, he took the hurt intended for his love. Still hopeful and blissfully unaware that he had not a chance. For his hopeful position was already taken by the witcher that clung to him now.

#Jaskier Whump #protective Jaskier #oblivious Geralt #Jaskier would give his all for Geralt #geralt/eskel #Just a bit of what I have been working on #out of order scene #Jaskier is a witcher in this one #Geralt didn't know

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of-toussaint · 2 years

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the irresistible urge to give Ciri so many positive parental figures

#secretly soft protective but respectful of her abilities and independence Dad Geralt #extremely proud teaching her to harness her power Mom Yennefer #exuberant but dependable and always there for moral support Dad Jaskier #quirky cryptid 'i need someone to get into mischief with and you're just the adult for that' Dad Regis #and Lambert and Eskel too who are more like uncles than dads but they're always around when she needs them #i want this girl to know she is LOVED she is VALUED for who she is. she has a place in the world and a family beyond her blood

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catscraftsandcommentary · 5 months

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So I had some time to think tonight at work (in between operating heavy machinery, swearing at the materials, and trying to keep the line running, fun times!) And I asked myself, "self, hypothetically, what might @inexplicifics Accidental Warlord AU look like in another generation or two - once people really get used to witchers being The Good Guys (TM) and helping out?"

And I was like "well, they'd probably get invited to social events - ooh! Who'd like which events best?!? What would that look like?"

Geralt, as we all know, detests anything too formal or Warlord-focused. He enjoys weddings and receptions, but his TRUE favorite is baby christenings. Seriously. Put him in a room with a tiny baby and he's happy as a clam. He'll happily growl away (or weaponize his puppy-dog eyes against) grannies, aunties, and other family members to hold the baby for as long as possible. He's also 90% of the reason that witchers are now rumored to be able to bless babies.

When Mouse and Treyse bring this new rumor to the council, everyone has to just sit. And process for a minute. Because what the ever-loving fuck?!? (Jaskier immediately writes the sweetest lullaby ever, "A Witcher's Blessing", and it is the ONLY song that Geralt ever sings in public, and only ever to babies and small children. Multiple women blame this for their immediate conceptions.)

Jaskier adores weddings and festivals of all types, and if a happy couple includes details of how they met and/or fell in love with their wedding invitation, there's at least a 50% chance that he'll show up to the wedding with a personalized love song, holy shit.

Ciri loves tourneys. Loves watching them, loves displaying in them, loves sneaking into competing in them (omg, heir, NO), loves WINNING them. She's a menace. She has various stealth coats of arms that she rotates between when she's not supposed to be competing, but her favorite is the battle goose. Obviously.

Eskel doesn't like crowds or being the center of attention, which are almost inevitable with public invitations, but he does enjoy being the +1 for his family. Several of his and their interests overlap, and even where they don't, he likes to see them enjoying themselves.

Yennifer becomes well-known as an extremely efficient - albeit terrifying - treaty negotiator. She'll talk to both sides, get a list of their must haves, deal-breakers, would-likes, and don't-wants (as well as - perhaps more importantly - the reason why each of those are on that particular list). Then she draws up a draft and viciously negotiates a compromise. She is genuinely surprised the first time that both sides thank her for her help.

Vesemir, with all his long years of teaching, loves visiting schools and seeing any sort of student performance or sporting event. Kindergarten to university, drama to music to dance recitals to track and field meets to football games to student symposiums to science contests to... He buys out bake sales and funds club field trips and donates several fortunes worth of antique knick knacks to various schools. He's invited as a guest lecturer, a commencement speaker, a competition judge, a referee.

Lambert and Aiden, at some point, discover bachelor's parties, call dibs, and never look back. People learn very quickly not to invite witchers to their stag nights unless they want the entire party to get horrifyingly drunk - but at least Lam and Aiden will make sure that everyone makes it home (or to the wedding) safely. Perhaps not soberly, or sans hangover, but definitely without major injury. (And if the bride asks nicely and the groom and friends weren't total jerks, Lambert can usually be counted on to make a hangover cure. He really is a softie at heart.)

Dragonfly and Serrit get tapped for the odd bachelorette party or ladies' birthday parties. Anything that falls under "I want to be able to drink and party with my friends without worrying about some strange guy hurting one of us." They are extremely protective and have both been drunkenly proposed to several times. (Livi finds this terribly amusing. Gweld just wants to know if he can watch.) Milena and Zofia sometimes go with them.

Milena loves going to wedding showers and baby showers, but outside Kaer Morhen, she has to stay in sight of Lambert or one of his brothers. Lambert's rule. (She got KIDNAPPED, okay? He's allowed to worry!) Usually she'll take Geralt (there might be babies! He's excellent protection!) or Eskel (he's very quiet and has excellent manners, and his signs are impossible to fight) for the more, ah, female-heavy events. If anyone asks, they're her brother-in-law and genuinely like spending time around kids. And very, very married.

#the witcher #accidental warlord au #inexplicifics

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geraskierficrecs · 11 months

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An Offer You Can’t Refuse Update!

New chapter here.

Teaser:

He tried not to think about the shadows reflected in Jaskier’s eyes on the night everything had gone to shit. It was the sort of madness that hinted at losing control entirely. Somehow Jaskier hadn’t collapsed beneath the weight of that rage, continuing to prove his strange loyalty by hunting Hayes.

Geralt forced himself to focus on something besides the mixture of guilt and longing roiling in his gut. He didn’t want to think about the last words they’d said to one another or the accusations he’d made when Jaskier reached out. His wolf told him that Jaskier was pack, but his human knew it wouldn’t be that simple. If he offered Jaskier his bite, the other packs would see it as offering his support to the rogue and potentially even harboring the Fenris. It would shatter any hope of peace.

“Yennefer cleared the bar,” Lambert said, walking over to meet them at the front of Kaer Morhen. “There’s no sigils she can sense, but the cameras are all fucked. Someone spray painted over the exterior lenses.”

“Could you smell anyone?” Eskel asked.

Lambert shrugged. “Just ash and iron.”

Which meant it was Nilgaard. Emhyr was growing bold in his preparations.

Geralt turned to Eskel. “Tell Coen to lock down the compound,” he ordered. “Nilfgaard is going to make a play tonight. Keep all the pups together–they’re not ready for a full assault.”

“What about you?” Eskel asked. “It’s a lot easier to take down a pack if their alpha is dead.”

The alpha rolled his shoulders in a shrug and met Lambert’s eyes in silent communication. He gave a little smirk at his brothers. “That’s why I have you two, isn’t it?”

There was a small moment where they looked at one another, tracking the changes of years spent fighting at each other’s side. Each face held new lines of strain and the smallest glint of silver beginning at the edges of each temple. New scars and new fears hidden beneath broad shoulders and golden eyes. Wordlessly, Lambert reached out to rest a hand on each shoulder, scenting the both and smiling faintly when his gesture was returned. Whatever rifts had lingered between them felt insignificant compared to the brightness of the bonds burning in their chest, the fierce love shining in their eyes.

“If we go down, we go down together,” Eskel said and the other two nodded in agreement, cementing the words like a sacred oath.

#modern au #werewolf au #werewolf mates #protective Eskel #protective geralt #angst #Angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #hurt geralt #my stuff #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #jaskier/geralt #laiden #lambert x aiden #soulmates #the witcher

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 10 months

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witchers x maleficent!/fae!reader

summary: how witcher characters would react to someone having maleficent type horns/wings and magic

notes: got this out just in time for the new season phew

warnings: gn!reader, lambert the middle schooler, jaskier's composing

tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @levithestripper @lu-in-the-library @sunndust (msg me to be added!)

based on this request | masterlist | requests are OPEN!

Geralt

He’s mostly just praying that fate isn’t throwing another curveball at him

Sureeee he’ll spend time with you!! (his fingers are crossed and he’s praying let them be normal let them be normal

Will end up totally accepting you, but he doesn’t love the attention that comes from being a witcher in the company of a fae

He secretly adores your wings

Jaskier

Immediately in song-writing mood

Will make up things about your life to fabricate contents for his ballads

Won’t treat you very different from his other ~weird~ friends

Loves loves loves the attention that comes with it (read: basks in it like the sun)

Yennefer

Yen is fascinated

The academic in her wants to tell her colleagues

And the girl who was all alone and abandoned in her absolutely adores you

You’d do good to make sure that she’s on your side, or she might sell you out

Definitely wants a piece of your magic either way

Ciri

Poor ciri

Eugh she just wants some friends

That don’t die…

She loves your horns and wings

Definitely adores you for also being *different* and having your own magic thing going on

Eskel

He adores your wings

If there is a wing care routing, please let this man do it

Otherwise, he might invent a conditioner-potion for your wings

Don’t scare him in the beginning though, or you may get stabbed

Lambert

Has the reaction of a seventh-grader

Might literally go woahhhhhh

Big hater, but not against you

Will protect you, but will also ask you if you can carry stuff with your horns constantly

Yeah becoming a christmas tree-esque creature may be a con

Coen

Coen honestly just enjoys a helping hand

Your magic will in fact be contributing to his work

Tbf he also makes sure you don’t get killed by angry farmers

The whole thing starts off as a symbiotic relationship but will turn into a friendship (if not more hehe)

Vesemir

Bro does not trust you

Thots and prayers girldude

Oh you have horns and wings? LIKE A MONSTER??

Unless one of his witchers (read:children) introduces you to him, he may attempt murder

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essskel · 1 year

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the whole ‘Eskel is a better witcher than Geralt’ stuff has always made me more sad than anything else. Geralt’s arc as a character is the building acceptance that even though he was raised a witcher and the profession is part of him : he’s a human, and he’s happy to be one.

but Eskel is a witcher. He’s not just ‘better’ at killing monsters he’s ‘better’ at wearing the title. He truly does work to cap his emotions, to succumb to the 9-5, to accept that his mutations make him something separate from the human he was born as.

He sees the stereotypes and the stigmatization of witchering and he only allows himself to step outside these forced boundaries when prompted by Geralt, Lambert, or Ciri, and even then he makes it clear that he’s making an exception.

And that’s not to say his moments of vulnerability and human connection are unnatural to him, he feels love and is drawn to protect those that he loves same as Geralt, but he’s out of practice in acting on these emotions because he’s a case study in survival repression.

He never solidifies a relationship with Ciri in the way Lambert does (in the books), he’s not even shown goofing around with her like Coën. He’s kind to her and he loves her and he goes on to put his life on the line to save her, but the vastness of his self-imposed missed opportunities is sickening. And that’s not even touching on the decay of his relationship with Lambert, or his white-knuckle grip on Vesemir.

Eskel is a good fucking witcher, he’ll dispose of your monsters faster and cleaner than his brothers ever will. But when his niece starts reminiscing on her favorite memories from childhood, he’ll be waiting a long damn time before she says his name.

#his vacant relationship with ciri genuinely haunts my waking dreams OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDD #please don’t take this post as ‘anti-eskel’ he’s literally my url. i’m just being sad abt him bc he makes me sad #eskel #witcher eskel #kaer morons #the witcher #the witcher games #lambert #double shot

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dahliavandare · 1 month

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Witcher fics I previously read on AO3 and now can’t find to reread:

1) Early on, Jaskier had the tendency to say “I love you” in bed. He meant it as a non-exclusive expression of joy and enthusiasm, but partners tended to interpret that as indicating a commitment to them in particular. To combat the problems this causes, he switched to saying “I’m in heaven” in those situations. Then he and Geralt casually have sex. Jaskier says his usual stuff, but because he is into Geralt specifically he also mouthed “I love you”. Later it comes up that Geralt heard him. Happy ending. I think it came out before season two.

2) Geralt and Jaskier are investigating disappearances in a city where an above average amount of anti-witcher pamphlets are in circulation. They realize the people who disappeared were pro-witcher (prostitutes who were willing to serve them, a bard who played Jaskier’s songs with her band) so Jaskier acts as bait. He’s kidnapped by a mage, held with the missing musician, and then the mage is all “I’ve brought the witcher down to his basest instincts. He’ll rip you apart and prove what a monster he is, unless you make a statement about what an inhuman monster he is, in which case we’ll just burn you at the stake.” And Jaskier goes “Geralt, for sure.”

They put him in the basement with Geralt, who of course is gentle with him and protective and offers him “food” (raw rats he killed, but the sentiment came through). Yenn, Lambert and Eskel free them to take Geralt to Kaer Morhen and fix him. Still feral, Geralt brings Jaskier along. Yenn warned Jaskier that as soon as Geralt feels safe his attentions will turn sexual regardless of what Jaskier wants. While Geralt is protective and possessive and tries to kiss him, he is in fact very attentive to Jaskier’s mood/desires and doesn’t force him.

While they’re trying to cure him, they let Geralt hunt in the surrounding mountains, and he keeps bringing Jaskier monster parts to curry his favor. They cure him, Geralt’s all remorseful and tries to leave, but Jaskier’s like “I’m not even a little mad” and they get together.

#lost fic #the witcher #fanfic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel

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aramblingjay · 11 months

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After summers of fasting I feel hunger at last Geraskier, touch-starved, bed sharing (2K)

They meet that spring. And the one after, and the one after, and the one after, until it’s six winters later and Geralt leads Roach down the trail from Kaer Morhen with his saddlebags stocked full of human-safe potions and spare lute strings and a bright maroon doublet too small to have the faintest hope of fitting him.

ao3

The first winter he returns to Kaer Morhen, Geralt is asked to describe Jaskier.

“We hear you’ve started traveling with a companion,” Eskel says over dinner. Lambert and Coën go a little too still in the corner to not be listening, and even Vesemir subtly turns his head in their direction—everyone’s been wondering, evidently, and Eskel has been chosen as the best person to pose the question.

“Yes,” he agrees, taking another bite of whatever it is Lambert has decided to pass off as dinner. Some kind of meat, perhaps? It powders in his mouth like chalk.

To his credit, Eskel doesn’t ask who the companion is. “What are they like?” he asks instead, and Geralt doesn’t miss the they. It protects him implicitly the way Eskel always has, assuming nothing, allowing him to reveal exactly as much or as little as he wants, and Geralt is reminded all over again why he’s never been able to deny Eskel anything.

Including this, so he tries to find the right words. It was never his strength, even back when he still had red hair and brown eyes and knew of Witchers only as a fiction told to scare disobedient kids, but it’s even harder now.

“He’s—”

The first description which comes to mind is loud, but that isn’t quite right. Jaskier is loud only in the sense that Geralt is always aware of his presence, a whisper of citrus and jasmine beside him. And he hums incessantly, sometimes accompanied by the twang of his lute, sometimes not—but it isn’t the kind of overbearing, obtrusive singing that loud would suggest. Jaskier’s music is just there, a constant background, as familiar to him now as the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves in the wind.

He’s a bard, Geralt considers saying, but that doesn’t capture the essence of Jaskier, almost suggests he’s nothing without a tune on his lips.

He’s brave. Certainly, he’s the first human Geralt’s met that has never, not once, smelled like fear around him, even when Geralt’s eyes are inky black and he’s more monster than man. But Geralt doesn’t know if that’s bravery or foolhardy, and besides, true bravery is to run toward that which you fear. To not feel the fear at all—that’s something else entirely.

He’s different. True. Not nearly enough to explain.

“He’s kind,” Geralt says finally, and it feels right. There is no kindness to be found here at Kaer Morhen—even Eskel, for all his protectiveness, is not kind. No Witchers are, no Witchers are allowed to be. But Jaskier is the opposite of a Witcher, vivacious like no one Geralt has ever known before, impulsive and free-spirited and wholly kind.

Eskel’s eyes go strangely soft. “Oh, Wolf,” he murmurs, so low only a Witcher could hear.

Geralt looks away. “Anyway, I doubt I will see him again come spring.”

It’s not a lie. Jaskier has undoubtedly moved on to pastures new, wintering in Oxenfurt or Lettenhove or some other place that Witchers wouldn’t set foot, somewhere bright and lively to keep the chill at bay. The chance that their paths will randomly cross again once Geralt comes down the trail in a few months’ time is slim, and he doesn’t expect Jaskier to wait for him either. Jaskier is kind, but not infinitely so, and surely spending another year on the Path beside a Witcher who grunts more than speaks is the last thing he wants.

It’s not a lie, but the words taste bitter on his tongue anyway.

They do meet that spring. And the one after, and the one after, and the one after, until it’s six winters later and Geralt leads Roach down the trail from Kaer Morhen with his saddlebags stocked full of human-safe potions and spare lute strings and a bright maroon doublet too small to have the faintest hope of fitting him.

Geralt dismounts Roach outside The Wolf’s Snout, a grimy-looking inn with a half-broken fence surrounding it, five days’ trek from the bottom of the trail. It is further than he usually travels before stopping—the Kaedweni innkeepers closer to Kaer Morhen are more used to Witchers popping in than those this far out.

(But Jaskier mentioned this inn to him last year, so. Here he is)

He has yet to meet Jaskier in the same inn twice, but somehow they always find each other in one establishment or another on the outskirts of Kaedwen. Geralt no longer doubts whether their paths will cross, the question is only when.

Though he knows Jaskier tends to winter close to the coast, he does not ask how or why Jaskier ends up in Kaedwen every spring. Such a gift is too precious to jeopardize, either by his clumsy questioning or his even clumsier acknowledgment.

Geralt steps inside the inn to a raucous dining area, every available table surrounded by men with red cheeks and loud voices, clearly well on the ale. A good bard would make a pretty coin or two here, he thinks idly, and wonders if that’s why Jaskier mentioned it.

The innkeeper is a short, wiry woman with sharp eyes that rake him from top to bottom as he approaches her.

“Room for the night?” he asks, careful to speak just loud enough to be heard over the din. The innkeeper will know, of course, but nobody else seems to have clocked that he’s a Witcher, and the longer he keeps it that way the smoother his stay will be.

“I won’t be having any trouble here tonight,” she says, but her voice isn’t hostile.

“I won’t give you any.”

A corner of her mouth lifts. “And payment up front. How many nights you staying?”

Several coppers lighter, Geralt ends up in a rather spacious room at the very end of the hall, complete with a bed large enough for two (or one broad Witcher), a second small bed pushed up against a window, a fireplace, and a round tub. The main bed even comes with a feather-padded blanket for warmth. Compared to his usual accommodations, it’s a veritable palace.

He scowls, and dumps his saddlebags in a corner. All this luxury is largely wasted on him, and does little to fill the hollow in his chest that has only grown with every step away from Kaer Morhen.

There’s not much to do here besides take in the finery and rest, so he casts Igni to light a fire and settles into the bed rather quickly. Some dinner would be nice, perhaps, but everything smelled a little too salted and seasoned downstairs—normally he can stomach just about anything, but several months of pampering over winter have narrowed his palette considerably, and it’ll take at least a few weeks time to remember how not to give a fuck again.

Sleep finds him almost immediately after that. It should be one of the most comfortable nights he’s had outside the keep in recent memory, but the emptiness of the room aches in his chest like a physical, tangible thing.

He wakes to citrus and jasmine and a voice he would know anywhere.

“She told me you were in—ah, Geralt. Here you are. Lovely to see you again after a long winter.” Jaskier steps further into the room until he’s fully illuminated by the firelight. He looks good, Geralt surmises, well-fed and looked-after. “Don’t mind me. Coin is short and this room is entirely paid for, so I’ll be here for the night.”

It’s phrased as a statement but intended as a question.

Geralt just grunts his assent and drifts back to sleep smiling.

They fall into the familiar routine just as they have every year before. It’s comfortable, safe, easy.

Geralt kills monsters and Jaskier sings about it.

Jaskier sleeps with fine ladies (and more than one fine lord), and Geralt scares away their angry spouses with a well-placed intimidating look.

Geralt keeps them safe, and Jaskier keeps them fed, the coin he earns from one night of performing usually triple what Geralt could even hope to earn from a single contract.

Jaskier smiles at him and worries after him and touches him with a care no one’s taken since he was a boy, and Geralt tries to understand what it all means.

The ache in his chest is an old, forgotten thing.

Their seventh spring, he once again stops at The Wolf’s Snout.

(He’s never waited in the same inn twice before, until now, but he refuses to consider what that might mean)

This time, he’s awake. Waiting up, one could call it, though the very idea is preposterous—Witchers don’t have anyone worth waiting up for, and the chance to sleep in a bed is a precious commodity on the Path. No one is coming home to a Witcher.

But then there’s a lyrical knock at the door—two taps, and then a faster three, the beat of a song he doesn’t know—and Jaskier is there. Framed in the doorway, dressed from head to toe in bright blue and green that should irritate his eyes but doesn’t, not in the slightest, only makes something loosen in his chest that’s been taut for too long.

Jaskier is there. Here. With him, again, for the seventh spring in a row, despite it all.

“You’re awake,” Jaskier says, and his voice is missing some of its usual brightness, its usual whimsical nonchalance, but it’s so good to hear all the same.

“Hmm.”

And Jaskier shouldn’t be able to read what that means, just like he shouldn’t be here in a beaten-down inn along the forgotten backwater of Kaedwen about to step into a room already occupied by a Witcher, but Jaskier is brave and different and kind and entirely incapable of ever doing what he should.

So of course, Jaskier only says, “Yeah, me too,” like he hears the words Geralt doesn’t even know how to form in the privacy of his own mind, and steps over the threshold.

It feels significant, somehow. A bigger step than across a single plank of wood.

He stays silent, watching as Jaskier drops his bags in a heap by the door and undresses down to his smalls in the half-darkness.

There’s only one bed in this room. Geralt asked for a room and the innkeeper offered this one and he didn’t spend more than a second thinking about it before accepting. Witchers can’t be picky, and Jaskier has slept on the floor many a time—they both have, on cold and dirty forest floors far more uncomfortable than anything this inn could offer.

But.

“What are we doing here, Geralt?” Jaskier asks softly, hovering by the edge of the bed but making no move to come closer.

Geralt doesn’t have an answer. But he shifts just slightly on the bed, an invitation—and Jaskier lies down in the open space next to him, no trace of fear anywhere in his scent even now—and for the first time since the mutagens burned away every part of the boy he used to be, Geralt wants.

The next year, Jaskier doesn’t come.

Geralt waits at The Wolf’s Snout for a fortnight, until he can’t delay going back on the Path any longer, and then another day just to be totally, completely sure.

Jaskier never comes.

He packs up his things, never considers leaving behind the human-safe potions or the lute strings or the too-small doublet even though they add weight to Roach’s pack—just shoves it all into the bottom of his satchel along with his emotions and his hopes and the weird sense of betrayal he has no right to feel, and walks the Path.

Alone, as he was meant to.

The ache is back, a monster under his skin. He feels cold and tired and empty, but a Witcher isn’t made to break, so he puts one foot in front of the other in front of the other until it’s winter again.

He collapses into Eskel’s arms the moment he’s back in the keep, grateful to still have one person who hasn’t left, and his eyes burn.

If he could cry—he can’t, so it doesn’t matter. But if he could, he would probably drown.

It’s foolishness, to go back to the same inn. It’s foolishness, and Geralt is not a fool, but he can’t help himself.

Just to be sure. Just to be absolutely certain Jaskier has left this life, left him, and then he’ll walk the Path and never ever return here again.

But he opens the door to his preferred room, an extra three coppers per night now but worth it just for the memory of having slept beside Jaskier in this bed, and it isn’t empty.

Jaskier is there.

His hair is longer. He’s dressed in deep maroon, and there are bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days, and he smells like he hasn’t showered since he left wherever he’s been for so long—and he’s the most beautiful thing Geralt has ever seen.

“Hi,” Jaskier says, tentatively, like he’s not sure if he’ll be welcome. Like Geralt hasn’t spent the last year withering away at the prospect of never seeing him again.

“Jaskier.” He can’t find any other words. He can’t think of any that matter more than this, saying a name he thought he’d have to bury in the deepest corner of his mind forever, lest the mere memory of it reduce him to dust.

“Sorry I wasn’t here last year. It’s a long story involving—”

“Come here,” Geralt whispers, cutting him off. His voice breaks, but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, all that matters is Jaskier standing on the other side of the room. “Please.” Witchers don’t beg but he isn’t a Witcher in this moment, just a man, old and weary and aching. “Please.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier is front of him in a flash. “Darling, I’m right here. I’m right here, I promise.”

That familiar hand reaches out and rests on his chest—he feels it, the slightest pressure when those long fingers brush against his tunic, the searing warmth of Jaskier’s skin on his own even with two layers of cotton in between.

Citrus and jasmine, the jackrabbit beat of Jaskier’s heart, and that soft, gentle warmth—Geralt closes his eyes and comes home.

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #*fic #*writing #apparently the trailer inspired me and now i’m doing a bunch of geraskier writing?

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cosmos-coma · 1 month

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Cuddling Eskel HCs

While Eskel is the kindest and most polite Witcher, I think he’s also the loneliest. Unfortunately his scars don’t exactly bring in the admirers like his white haired brother’s does and his mild nature doesn’t really put him out there much.

That’s not to say he’d let it get the best of him though. Early on, before you guys have a true and defined relationship, he’d steal a couple touches. A grazing of his fingers as he reaches for something, an “accidental” knocking of each others knees under tavern tables, or a quick brushing away of dirt from your cheek.

The best though were sharing a saddle during long rides. Where- depending on how much sleep you got- you’d either ride behind him, your arms wrapped around his chest and staying there. Or, if you had been tossing and turning the whole night before he’d have you sit in front of him. This way he can have his arms most of the way around you, keeping you from falling off the side. If he was lucky you’d fall asleep to Scorpion’s rhythmic movements and lean back against his soft chest as you snoozed.

However when you got closer he became a little more confidence in reaching out for you, though he still likes the little surge of confidence and love he feels when he sees you reach out for him first.

But once your place in each other’s lives is more established he’s much more apt to slip his hand into yours as your walking or hold open the blanket in an invitation for you to join him under the covers.

In winter it’s 10 times worse. Eskel handles the cold perfectly fine, he’s learned how in his years growing up at the keep. But he also knows it’s the perfect excuse to pull you in closer to him, to spend those 10 extra minutes in bed just holding you that much closer.

Speaking of- the classic question: Big spoon or little spoon? Eskel is s big spoon man, his whole purpose in life his to protect and with you it’s only amplified, especially if you two are out on the path.

However, Eskel has discovered a great fondness for laying his head on your chest/stomach. Specifically when he can lay between your legs, his chest and head laying peacefully on top of you. Soft hums emanate from the mountain of a Witcher as your hands run through his hair, fingers massaging his scalp idly and picking out twigs and leaves. He loves listening to your heart beat in this position, Loves knowing that you’re here, you’re his, as if you’re a dream he’s still not sure if he’ll wake up from.

———-

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