Geralt is an extremely rare male omega and the only Witcher trainee who isnt an alpha. He works harder than anyone and no one is his match in skill. Eskel falls hopelessly in love. A week before they turn 18 and have their final trial The two are sparring alone and goofing off as they usually do when everyone is asleep since they were kids. Geralt always thought this must be what soulmates feel like. Eskel makes a dirty move and pins Geralt down, who laughs to much to fight back...till Eskel kisses him
They spend the night together and neither has ever been happier. But then the next week before the final trial Geralt is taken away. Vesemir says it's because his trial is different because he's an omega, but Eskel pleads, he knows theres something else. No one sees Geralt again
5 years later, Eskel is a kind but also very withdrawn fully fledged Witcher. He has little interest in other people besides defending them from monsters, and prefers his horse and goat for company. It was assumed the trial had killed Geralt, and Eskel was never whole again
It was on the border of Toussaint where he first picks up a painfully familiar scent. In a desperate haze he races through the forest to the camp, to find a familiar horse...and a little girl with Geralt's red hair and his brown eyes they had before the trial of the grasses
👉👈 Eskel is shy about how quickly he gains weight during winter but Geralt is extremely into it?
the luxuries of winter
CW: Non-sexual nudity. As the prompt suggests, Eskel is a bit shy over his weight gain, but he quickly figures out Geralt loves it and him. Brief mentions of weight loss on the path, including extreme weight loss previously for Lambert. Rated T
WC: 2.9k+
It had been an exceptionally tough year on the path, Eskel having struggled for coin. Between towns food had been scarce, only affording what he hunted, Scorpion getting the first choice of a meal even when he reached the few and far in-between towns in the side of the country he’d spent most of his year wandering.
That said, it was only natural that he’d descend upon the winter stews with a ravenous hunger.
Winter was his one respite in that matter. Where the path might make him lose his natural plush, Vesemir always had a hearty meal hot and waiting for them. Day in and day out, the smell wafted all throughout the keep, kept boiling on the fire in the dining hall along with the scent of fresh baked bread and other such treats.
Eskel had went straight for a bowl when he arrived, only sparing the time to stable up Scorpion before he was seated by the fire. Pack dropped right next to his chair, armor and thick cloak still on, his stomach growling almost in protest as he ate and ate. He had been the first to arrive, and this year Vesemir had tisked when he finally took off his cloak, commenting how he should have some more bread before bed.
Never in his life had Eskel turned down bread, and soaked in the hearty broth of the stew it was heavenly. He could have moaned at the taste but he simply closed his eyes, letting himself slow down at last and enjoy it instead of eating it like someone might snatch it away from him.
His stomach was full and warm for the first time in a long while, and Eskel slept well that night.
After that, an easy pattern formed. Mornings were filled with smoked meats and some of the eggs that had been collected. Broiled vegetables as well, not all typical things one might consider as morning food but they were ones that should be eaten first. Things that would not last the whole winter or would not freeze well, and that made an excellent breakfast for one who had struggled to find any along the road. The afternoons would be filled with things he could grab and eat as he went. Jerkies, baked breads, sweets, some fruits that would not last much longer and needed to be eaten within the first few weeks or else dried and baked into breads and sweets later. Nights were filled with stews and more bread, and Eskel found he ate and ate, finding comfort in the fullness of his stomach - something that had become such a luxury and now was becoming a comfortable norm.
Lambert was the second to arrive from the path, only a week after Eskel. He was griping from moment one but he wasn’t skin and bones, which was more than enough comfort for Eskel to take him in his arms and squeeze him, and put up with most of his griping even. There had been a particularly rough year where he’d dragged himself up the mountain and had looked half gone, something that haunted Eskel’s memory. And it was something he never hoped he’d have to see or go through again with any of his brothers.
The last was late. The days and nights drew on, Eskel ending up staring out the windows of the keep when he could spare a glance, waiting for the white wolf to finally throw open the door and announce himself. It still wasn’t too late for him to make it (Eskel had been early, and Lambert too had been early by a bit. There was still time) but it was...worrisome. Eskel picked at the lint on his clothes as he stared out the window, a snack in his hand, his eyebrows drawn up tight with concern as he waited for Geralt to come home.
A few weeks past, enough time for his new diet to show. Eskel skimmed a hand down his growing stomach one late evening, resting by the fire, his muscles sore after the hard day’s work and needing the rest. But it was getting harder and harder to sleep, his mind elsewhere, his eyes not wanting to stay shut when they could be looking for his dear white wolf in the building snow outside.
It was getting late. Soon there wouldn’t be a chance for anyone to make it up the mountain. And he was worried.
But his worry was put to rest within the hour. Eskel was poking at the fire, encouraging it to burn on and keep the stew warm (in hopes that, if Geralt did arrive, he wouldn’t have to go hungry or eat anything cold when he made it in to the warmth of the keep), when at last there was some noise outside. His head lifted up, the loose hair from his bun tickling at his neck, his lips drawn into a light frown as he listened. And sure enough, there was someone outside - and the chances of it being anyone but Geralt were so slim that it didn’t even dawn on him, he was up out of his chair a moment later, subconsciously pulling down his shirt as it rode up.
Geralt pushed the door open before he was halfway across the room, exhaustion written into every line of his face, but when he saw Eskel some of it relaxed away. They were in each other’s arms a moment later, hugging each other close, Eskel burying his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck as Geralt did the same in turn.
“You’re late, wolf,” Eskel mumbled against his skin, brushing his lips against his neck, his eyes shut tight as he breathed him in.
Geralt grunted and just held him tighter, not willing to get go. And Eskel didn’t want him to, really, even if the door was open and snow was being blown in around them.
Eventually, they did move away from the door, Eskel taking Geralt’s hand and leading him back to the fire where it was warm. Soon Geralt had a bowl of stew to warm him up as well, Eskel taking his cloak for him, running a gentle hand through Geralt’s hair to hear him sigh as he walked past to hang it to dry.
Only two bowls later, and Geralt’s eyes kept sliding closed. He wasn’t quite sleeping but it was a close thing, him only managing to hum in response to anything Eskel said - though Eskel did not say much, just basking in Geralt’s company, sitting on the floor next to him to lean his head against Geralt’s strong thigh. There had been a few days where Eskel had worried he wouldn’t make it home, and a few short hours where he thought the worst (though he’d always shoved it out of his head, refusing to believe it could have happened).
But Geralt was here. Warm and strong and very alive, allowing Eskel to rest his head against him. Running his fingers through Eskel’s hair which had been quickly pulled out of its bun, making Eskel purr and melt in their place near the fire.
They were both tired from a long day. Geralt, from a long journey. Though he was loathe to get up Eskel sighed, taking Geralt’s hand from his hair to kiss his palm. Geralt hummed questioningly as Eskel got up but he barely managed to open his eyes, just a crack, just a sliver of color peeking out from beneath those long white lashes.
“Come, wolf. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Hmm, stay with me?”
Eskel smiled, one much bigger than he would give anyone else. One that pulled at his scars and showed teeth, one that often earned him a soft kiss to the sensitive side of his face on his good days. “Yes, yes. I’ll stay with you.”
That’s the only reason Geralt let him tug him up out of the chair. Eskel linked their fingers together as he led Geralt through the doorway to the spiral staircase, up to the final floor where one of the least damaged spare rooms was at. Their rooms had not survived the attack very well but it had been easy enough to relocate, neither of them having much attachment to a space they only spent a few months out of the years at - and any sort of sadness they’d had over the loss of what had been theirs had been quickly drowned out by the sadness of the attack overall.
But that was not what Eskel wished to think of, not when Geralt had just gotten home. He shook his head lightly to rid himself of any lingering thoughts, turning to smile over at his wolf who’d closed his eyes again and simply let Eskel lead him. It tugged at strings Eskel hadn’t realized he’d had before their first winter together (together together, the winter they’d fallen into each other’s arms).
The room was nothing special. Just a bit of a larger bed pushed against one of the walls. A place to hang their cloaks if they ever bothered to bring them up, somewhere to store any spare clothes they’d brought. A desk to keep some of their more fragile items. Two dressers though they really just shared the one, the other just having random bits and odd ends tossed into it, things they weren’t sure where else to put. He ignored all of that and simply tugged Geralt off to the bed, though he stopped him in front of it, ignoring the grunt and the displeased frown it earned him.
“Not letting you into bed dressed like this,” Eskel told him, his voice quiet as if he might disturb the night if he spoke too loudly. Geralt didn’t grunt or hum at him in response but stayed still as Eskel worked off his armor and weapons, placing them all in the floor for now to be put away proper in the morning when Geralt wasn’t ready to drop where he was.
If it had been earlier in the day, Eskel would have drug him off to the hotsprings before even thinking about letting him sleep like this. But it was late, the moon already high in the night sky, and Geralt was tired. Bathing together could come in the morning. He could put up with his white wolf being a bit stinky from the road for one night.
That said, the stinky clothes had to go. Eskel worked on ridding Geralt of them until he was in nothing but his smalls, and then he cocked his head and got rid of those as well. There was a small fireplace in the room, as there was in all of the rooms, and the fire had been light and needed stoking but it would be warm enough with the both of them pressed together. He gently pushed Geralt towards the bed and let his wolf climb in on his own, taking over most of the bed while Eskel went to poke and prod the fire back to life.
When the fire was decently going, Eskel turned back, a soft expression touching his face at the sight of Geralt in their bed. He was laying on his stomach, his hair a mess around his face, bare body barely covered by the sheet he’d haphazardly pulled up over himself. A single cute bum cheek was even hanging out, orange and yellow from the fire dancing across his skin, making him look warm and like the only home Eskel really ever wanted to return to.
He grabbed the ends of his own shirt, going to join him, when his fingers brushed against the new plush his stomach had gained. It made Eskel pause, halfway towards the bed, a sudden shyness creeping into him.
It had really only been a few weeks since he’d gotten back. The path had been rough, his stomach hadn’t been the size it usually was, but it had really only taken a few weeks for him to gain it all back and more. Packing away the sweets and breads and stews always did that to him, but...but it was a bit more than even the winters, wasn’t it?
He looked down at his stomach, one hand running across it, until he took a firm hold of a handful of his belly bulge. It...really was more than usual, and certainly more than Geralt and Lambert would ever get. And a lot faster than they would ever get anything close to it, too. It had been how he’d been born, of course; he’d always been a bit softer than most of the other wolves around him, but he’d long since put most of his shyness over it behind him. Or so he’d thought.
And yet here he was, hesitating. Holding his stomach and frowning down at it instead of climbing into bed with the lover he only ever got a limited number of nights with each year.
Eskel shook his head, and started back towards the bed. He did not take off his clothes.
It took some poking and prodding at Geralt to get him to share the bed. The poor wolf had already dozed off, grumpy in his sleep, grumbling and growling until Eskel damn near manhandled him into moving over. That at least got his eyes back open, and the growling turned into a soft whine when Geralt saw who he was, reaching out and burying himself into Eskel’s chest even before Eskel managed to make himself comfortable.
Damn good thing Geralt was so endearing and cute. Eskel chuckled and moved him around some more, fighting with the limbs that tangled around him until finally he was situated on the bed in a way that wouldn’t leave his back a mess of pain in the morning. He kept a hand on the back of Geralt’s head, fingers tangled into his hair, Geralt’s head pillowed against his soft chest as his dearest love melted into him with a contented sigh.
The sound of the fire crackling away was the only one that joined their breathing and heartbeats. It was peaceful in a way Eskel wanted to drown himself in, wrap himself up in until it was all he knew. And he tried to, feeling sleep tug at his mind as he tried to follow it back to the dark, dreamless place he spent his nights in.
But Geralt started to fidget, and then grumble. Until he let out a growl again, sounding like a displeased pup. It was late enough and Eskel was tired enough to be a bit ruffled by it, trying to hold Geralt closer to see if he’d stop fidgeting, but the wolf fidgeted right out of his grip even as Eskel sighed.
“What’s wrong?”
But Geralt ignored his question, just half sitting up to glare down at whatever had offended him about their position. His glare was directed at Eskel himself, and that woke Eskel right up. For a brief moment, he had a flash of panic - was...was there something wrong with him? Did Geralt not like what the winter diet had done to him?
That was quickly tossed to the side when Geralt’s lip twitched up as he grabbed and yanked at Eskel’s shirt, not really making any sort of progress at getting it off of him but being enough of an annoyance about it that Eskel swatted his hands away.
“Alright, okay, I get it,” he groused, sitting up and having to push Geralt away in the process. His heart picked up just a touch as he got his shirt up over his head, and he tossed it towards the lump of clothes and armor he’d pulled off of Geralt earlier. The moment his shirt was off Geralt all but tackled him back to the bed, snuggling into his bare skin and snuffling at him in that sort of way that made Eskel both exasperated and also so endeared to him.
“Was that it, wolf? Didn’t like my shirt?”
Geralt nipped at his chest, though Eskel couldn’t tell if he didn’t like the question or if he just wanted to nip at him. Considering how growly he was, Geralt wasn’t likely to answer if he asked anyway. Eskel just sighed back into the bed, knowing Geralt would get comfortable in his own time, and that any effort he made himself to get him to lay down and be still would be thwarted.
He took his time doing it. Nuzzling and snuggling closer, wrapping himself around Eskel in fifteen different ways, slowly maneuvering himself down the bed as he squirmed about until at last, at long last, Geralt sighed and melted once more. It was with his face pressed firmly against the soft, warm new plush of Eskel’s stomach, one arm wrapped under Eskel and trapped beneath him and the bed, the other hand on his stomach and gently feeling the softness there.
A blush spread across Eskel’s cheeks, but the shyness he felt then wasn’t bad. The kneading was comforting, soft, making any sort of discomfort over himself fade away under the affection. Along with Geralt’s nuzzling and purring Eskel could tell he liked it, and the kisses his wolf pressed to him wrote love all over the jagged lines of scars and stretch marks that were painted across his skin.
They fell asleep like that, Geralt tangled around him, Eskel’s hands in his hair and on his back. Nothing but the sound of fire to join them as they drifted off, at last safe and sound and at home in each other’s arms, the soft luxuries of winter enveloping them.
heyy crunchy! “ it’s mostly healed up now. “ and geralt/eskel if you vibe with them, if not geralt/ yennefer would be fun hehe
Thanks so much! Send me prompts!
A little pre-slash, young Eskel/Geralt for your viewing pleasure.
560~ words, rated G, soft touches. Geralt Needs A Hug.
“It's mostly healed up, now,” Geralt says vaguely, not looking up from the work he has set himself. They’re resting, on the side of a road that will lead them to Vizima but that isn't what concerns Eskel, right now. The bandages being wrapped slowly around a gaping wound on Geralt’s forearm, however, does.
“You need to stop being so reckless.” They’ve had this conversation before, endless times. Ever since Geralt's second round of trials, Eskel has watched him slowly destroy himself. He doesn't know why--is it to see if he can? With a sigh he continues, “You're not invincible.”
Geralt only hums. They've been on the Path for a year, together even now as the other boys--men--have parted from them and made their own ways in the world. Eskel wonders how many of them he will ever see again.
Eskel catches Geralt's fingers stumbling over the uneven cloth in his hands from the corner of his eye. “Melitele's tits, Geralt let me do it.” They’re both silent while he works but from the look he can feel angled at him, Eskel knows Geralt isn't pleased.
It's a bright, clear day, birds crooning overhead as summer loses her strength and the smell in the air suggests autumn. Eskel is inches from Geralt’s face, a spot he feels most comfortable; if he’s this near, he can be sure that Geralt isn’t off getting into trouble, going places Eskel cannot follow. It settles something within him to hear Geralt breathe, soft huffs of air sounding between slowed heartbeats. Eskel finds himself almost hypnotized by it, so when Geralt speaks it comes as a surprise, jolting him as he attempts to tie off the bandage in his grasp.
“Don’t worry so much, wolf.”
It’s dismissive. An attempt at passing conversation.
But something in Eskel flares.
“I think someone should, wolf,” he snaps. He knows it’s too much, driven in by the fact that Geralt looks at him with utter confusion writ plainly across his face. The things he has felt grind at him, like whetstone against a blade, tumble forth with an almost alarming insistence. He has kept his tongue about his brother’s willingness, his near desperation to jump into danger, but no more.
“This is just the latest of your wounds--how many do you hide that I don’t know about? I have a feeling the answer is too many.”
Eskel expects anger in return, fire feeding fire. He thinks he would welcome it--this is how they show they care after all, with loud words and harsh fists. Arguments settled in sweat and--at times--blood. But Geralt’s eyes slowly slide away to the dirt at his side and he gently removes his arm from Eskel’s grasp. Immediately the wind is taken from Eskel’s sails, his certainty ripped from beneath him.
“Nevermind, I don’t--”
“I don’t like it, Es.”
Eskel’s brows knit together, “Like...what?”
When Geralt looks at him, Eskel isn’t expecting his breath to leave him like it does, Geralt’s eyes swimming with hesitation.
“Help.”
At that, something in Eskel’s chest shatters and he can’t hold back his hands from taking the two just in front of him, that wring at each other with plain nervousness for having said something true. Geralt’s callouses match his own, and he likes the way they compliment each other as they rub against one another. Eskel gives a wry smile.
First smooch as young adult witchers, and more recent smooch as fully-fledged, seasoned witchers
(aka I wanted a version without the holiday caption)
I saw someone in the tags asking why they’re not wearing their jackets and I promise it’s not any special reason, I am just very, very lazy and drawing armor is annoying
CW: None? Non-sexual nudity. Look @kuripon wrote something somfte (go read it) and it gave me somfte feelings and @all-hail-the-witcher said "counting freckles during a rain storm" so this is what y'alls get
Summary: Geralt and Eskel being soft with each other during a rain storm.
WC: 584
Tag list: pending (send an ask if you want on it!)
Candles flickered in the room, casting their shadows against the wall, the soft scent of vanilla in the air. Rain pitter pattered as it hit their window, rumblings of thunder occasionally shaking the room, flashing of lightning dampened by the curtains that hung loose and swayed in the gentle wind that made its way through the small crack that had been left to let the cool night air in.
Stormy nights had ever been some of their favorites. Geralt hummed, sinking into Eskel’s arms, his face pressed into the soft plushness of his chest as his fingers kneaded one of the rolls that always appeared when Eskel scrunched his stomach even a little. With his back lightly propped up by a few of their pillows, there was a few for Geralt to play with, to keep his fingers occupied as he closed his eyes and listened to the storm roll over them.
It was dark, save for the tiny orange flames that burned away on their candles. Save for the flashes of lightning that would light up the backs of Geralt’s eyelids but for a moment, making him turn to nuzzle further into Eskel’s bare chest - both of them were bare underneath the sheet they had pulled up over them, and really it was too warm to be buried into each other but they didn’t care, had never cared, dealing with the sweat and the sticking skin if it meant being able to hold each other close for even a second longer.
Eskel’s chest hair tickled Geralt’s nose, and he shook his head to keep from sneezing, drawing a chuckle out of his dear, sweet husband. When Geralt nipped his soft tit in turn Eskel swatted his shoulder, grouching about ‘sharp teeth’ and warning without any real threat that he’d dump Geralt on the floor if he kept it up.
Another flash, the next rumble sounding quieter than before. Geralt kissed the spot he’d nipped, not an apology, just affection. Fingers wound their way through his silver hair and he sighed at the touch, melting impossibly further, feeling himself sink into the soft heat that was his husband.
Soon those fingers found his skin. His neck, featherlight against the soft hairs there, tickling and making the corners of Geralt’s mouth twitch up on their own. Eskel huffed a quiet laugh beneath him but his fingers trailed lower, running over his shoulder blades, at first tracing idle and nonsensical patterns until they found a purpose.
Gentle tapping across his back. One finger at a time, whispered numbers that Geralt almost couldn’t hear, his nose scrunching up as he strained his ears past the rain to figure out what on earth Eskel was doing. ‘Five, six, seven, eight,’ Eskel counted across his back, each tap of his fingers such a tender caress it was like a kiss, and when Geralt figured it out he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or let the prickling of tears at his eyes turn him into the sap Lambert had been accusing him of becoming for years.
“Thirty,” Eskel whispered at last, his fingers having crossed to the other shoulder, and one last tap on the final freckle in reach before he smoothed his hand down Geralt’s back.
Geralt hummed, kissing whatever skin he could reach, letting the sound of rain and Eskel’s steady heartbeat be his lullaby - and save for the beloved tenor of his love’s voice, he couldn’t have thought of a song that could have possibly been sweeter.
