Panda!! 🐼 Could I request Jaskier showing Eskel that he looks beautiful/sexy with his scars when he feels insecure, that he feels unloved, please? Thanks so much, dear heart!! 💜
Absolutely darling Alex! It went softer and just a hint sadder than I intended, but I hope you like it! <333 Also, this is my first Jaskel, please enjoy!
Thank you @wolf-and-bard for helping me beta read this <333
On Ao3 here! Part two Part three
When Eskel sleeps, he does so on his side. His scars hidden in his pillow, gone from the world. That way, when he lies next to Jaskier, he hopes he will stay.
It’s harder when they are awake. Harder to hide his ugliness, his mistakes, his cruelty. He carries it with him always, a weight he is used to and comfortable with. Eskel knows what he looks like. Has accepted it.
He misses smiling though. Jaskiers smile is catching, achingly bright.
Eskel finds it hard to believe that Jaskier really wants him. Really wants him. Wants to stay with him. Jaskier is a very free spirit, a kind and very loyal one. Eskel doesn’t doubt his loyalty, he just finds it very hard to believe Jaskier’s colorful words of love.
Because how can he be worthy of it? How could he possibly be enough? Ugly, scarred, and dangerous as he is. How could he possibly hold Jaskier back, because of this wonderful loyalty?
So he does everything in his might to keep him. To be worthy. He struggles, he fights his own insecurities, because even if he doubts his own worth, he has to trust Jaskier’s judgement.
“It is my love, Eskel, and I give it to who I want.” Jaskier once told him. That time, his love wasn’t directed towards Eskel. And now it is.
And it is just as heavy.
~
When Eskel sleeps, Jaskier notices he sleeps on his side, hiding his scars.
Jaskier tries not to make a big deal out of it, but when they wake up, he makes a point of kissing his scarred cheek, his broken lips.
The first time he did, Eskel flinched. Jaskier asked if it hurt, and Eskel stared at him for a long moment before he admitted, no, he just isn’t used to kisses on his scars.
Jaskier never pushes him, never mentions what he sees. He just pours as much love as he can into it. He heard of a technique once, from a land far, far away. You don’t throw out broken pieces, you meld them back together with gold, and make them even more precious.
Jaskier is not vain enough to think of his kisses as gold, but he does his best to mend, to see the beauty that Eskel won’t.
He has a plan. Jaskier knows Eskel likes to face him as they sleep. So he puts his trickster plan into motion one night in Kaer Morhen. Jaskier sneaks off to bed early, taking Eskel’s side of the bed.
“It smells like you,” he says by way of explanation, giving Eskel his softest smile. Eskel forgives him, like he always does.
This time however, Eskel doesn’t settle easily. Usually, he would lay on his side and watch, touch, kiss as Jaskier falls asleep. Tonight, he struggles. His scars are in plain view, and Jaskier can see how much he wants to hide them.
Eskel flinches when Jaskier reaches out a hand and cups his cheek. The skin under his fingers is warm, alive, and Jaskier is forever grateful that he is allowed to touch, to love.
“I love you,” Jaskier whispers. “Everything that makes up you. If you’d let me, I want to stay by your side always.”
It was never his plan to make Eskel crumble. But in front of his eyes, this big man falls into pieces. Jaskier pours all his golden kisses in the cracks, holds him close to fit the pieces back together.
They kiss, cry, and then Eskel pulls Jaskier on top of him. Warmth turns to heat, and Jaskier’s fingers stroke Eskel’s wide, hairy chest. He kisses his soft stomach, adores his thick thighs.
Jaskier loves everything that makes up Eskel, and when he finally sinks into him, he thinks Eskel might start to believe it too.
“I love you,” Jaskier tells him, over and over again. “I love you”.
~
Eskel sleeps on his side.
Behind his back, a bard with golden kisses holds him close. His scars are hidden in the pillow still, but one day, he might find the gold in the cracks, and trust it’ll hold.
So what if when Geralt fucks a person he kinda loses control a small bit and he just looks really animilstic and just overal savage so it scares a lot of people. He’s become really insecure over it and refuses to let people see him in any sort of pleasured state.
When he and Jaskier get together the bard is adamant on facing Geralt and the Witcher is helpless to stop him. So they often do it in the dark and throughout the entire experience Geralt pretty much hides his face because apparently his eyes glow as well (he doesn’t know, he’s never seen himself when he’s in the throes of passion)
Eventually Jaskier picks up there’s something wrong. Mainly when it’s cold and Jaskier doesn’t want to put out the fire so Geralt basically begs him to wear a blindfold. That’s when Jask stops him and just looks at his Witcher.
Geralt doesn’t want to come out and say that he’s scared that the bard will leave him if he sees him in that state. He doesn’t want to admit that he has any form of weakness but when Jaskier just looks at him and offers the softest, most open smile he can muster Geralt’s resolve breaks and he spills.
He tells him of everything and how he doesn’t want Jaskier being scared of him. It’s the last thing Geralt wants.
It physically hurts Jaskier to see his Witcher so scared and for the first time in a long time he wants to hurt whoever it was that made his Witcher so insecure.
The bard offers to stop if Geralt wants but when the Witcher refuses he instead offers to wear the blindfold. The Witcher wants to refuse that too but he’s still not quite ready. He still isn’t fully prepared to show Jask that side of him so he ties it around the bard’s head firmly.
They gradually progress. Most times Jask still wears a blindfold because Geralt kind of digresses or gets randomly insecure. Eventually they get to a point where Geralt feels alright. He’s feeling confident enough to go without any sort of cover and Jaskier is being as supportive as he can while getting the air knocked out of him with every thrust.
It’s just a litany of praise and comfort and compliments from the bard because it’s true. Whoever Geralt was with before must’ve been blind because the man looks stunning like this. His eyes are sharper and they do glow a little more, his mouth is pulled in a constant snarl and shows his slightly sharpened teeth (which turns the bard on more than he’d care to admit)
Jask loves it, loves how Geralt looks and how Geralt loses his cool every few thrusts because of him. The bard can’t get enough of it and tells the Witcher when they’ve cooled down a bit. Geralt falls a little more in love with the bard as he goes off on a tangent on how beautiful Geralt looked because apparently, “Geralt you look stunning. I may have to write a song about this but I won’t sing it to others. Can’t have them coming to try and take you away form me now can I?” And the Witcher can’t say he completely hates the idea of Jask writing a song about this. As long as the bard keeps it for himself.
Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, Jaskier and the Beast...
sorry, couldn’t help myself. Anyway!
---
Jaskier looked himself over in the mirror one final time for good measure. He was rather pretty; as he deserved to be on his wedding day. He was a bride, after all, and most brides were far more temperamental than he had been. All things considered, the wedding ensemble gifted to him by the crotchety village elder was actually rather stunning. As he turned back and forth before his silver looking-glass he felt happy and excited.
He was also very sure that Essi, the only person in the village he had managed to befriend before his sudden and unexpected arranged engagement, had made sure to equip him with some lace and fine fabrics.
“Oh, sweetest Miss Essi,” he smiled, fastening the last mother-of-pearl button on his cuff and straightening out the doublet a final time. “You have done a wondrous thing for me; I will not forget you.”
With the entire outfit put together and the details attended to, Jaskier looked every part the blushing bride in a fairy tale story. A pair of white satin trousers fit snugly around his calves and thighs and tied closed at the small of his back. He’d done them up with a series of complicated bows. His doublet, embroidered around the hem with soft yellow buttercups and made of heavy white satin brocade, was tailored in the ribbon-heavy Redanian style.
There was a short, knee-length cape of matching white velvet, held closed with a rose-shaped clasp over his left collarbone. The elders had even provided Jaskier with a lovely gossamer veil, trimmed with a border of hand-made lace and attached to a flower crown of interwoven buttercup and dandelion blossoms. The yellow really brought out the blue of his eyes; the villagers had done him yet another accidental favor.
Jaskier felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and wiped them hurriedly away. He’d put on a little kohl for this and he didn’t want to ruin the effect by smudging it too early. “Damnit it all, Geralt. Why can’t you be here for this part?”
“Are you ready?” the guard outside his door asked, peeking his helmeted head inside the doorframe politely (it seemed silly to put a guard there to keep Jaskier from running away when he’d been living willingly with Geralt for several months at this point, but oh well).
“Almost!” Jaskier replied. He tied Geralt’s engagement dagger around his waist and cinched the leather belt tightly. The thin line of black and the softly glinting scabbard added just enough Beast to his bridal ensemble to make this all feel real. It was finally Candlemas Eve. They were to be wed, fully and legally husbands for the rest of Jaskier’s mortal life. The glowing peasant boy pulled the veil down over his face and smiled at his reflection.
“Now I’m ready,” he announced, stepping out of his private chamber. He had no bouquet, so his hands began to tap little calming rhythms against his legs. “Shall we go?”
“Lord Weatherby will be walking you down the aisle,” the guard explained. They started off down the hallway towards the Great Hall.
“Lovely,” Jaskier rolled his eyes. It was Lord Weatherby who had chosen him to play sacrificial lamb in the first place, and while Jaskier secretly owed the man his entire happiness, volunteering an unwilling victim to the Beast had been less than considerate. Geralt wasn’t exactly happy with the whole situation, either, but he’d agreed to let the old man play his part as intended (on the condition that he and Jaskier be left totally alone after the ceremony ended...forever).
The guard stopped outside the huge oak doors that shut the Great Hall off from the rest of the keep and told Jaskier to wait. The excited bride tapped his foot impatiently and nibbled furiously at his bottom lip. He knew that Geralt was just inside, down a short red carpet, standing beneath the huge carving of a great white wolf. Jaskier was practically vibrating out of his skin. He wanted to be married now. He wanted these people to go away and leave him and his Beast in their keep all alone.
Just the two of them.
Jaskier and his husband.
The ancient Lord Weatherby appeared at his side and took his arm with practiced grace. “Thank you for your sacrifice,” the old man intoned.
“Couldn’t be happier,” the peasant boy glared. “Though it would have been nice for you to ask for volunteers, first. Very rude of you to do to Geralt. Lucky for you, we’re happy together.”
The old man grimaced and gestured for the doors to be opened. He pulled Jaskier forward with urgent distaste, tugging the boy down the aisle as quickly as possible. He deposited the blushing brunette in front of Geralt and took a seat beside the other uninvited guests, wiping his hands on his jacket as if disgusted. Jaskier was too enraptured by his Beast to care.
“We are gathered here, in the halls of Kaer Morhen…” the priest gave a short and very boring speech but all Jaskier could focus on was how handsome and wonderful his Beast truly was. Tall and broad, with long white hair that felt so good to run between his fingers and eyes that put polished topaz to shame. He was decked out in his own wedding finery; a long-sleeved silk tunic in navy blue, high-waisted leather pants that hadn’t seen battle recently, and knee-high black boots shined just this morning. His hair had been braided out of his eyes and a silver circlet had been fastened atop his head. Jaskier found it thrillingly gorgeous but he was sure his Witcher hated it.
At last it came time for the vows. Geralt lifted the veil and gasped so quietly that only Jaskier could have heard it. His honey-gold gaze went soft and loving and something deep in the human’s chest settled into place. This was where he belonged, at his Witcher’s side, keeping him safe from the hurts and the hatred of the world beyond Kaer Morhen. They both needed this peace. They both deserved to be left to their own devices, to be left alone with their love and the warm stone castle, for the rest of their natural days.
The Beast and his bride exchanged pre-written vows quickly, placed the thin silver bands on each other’s appropriate fingers, and kissed.
It was a soft, achingly gentle kiss. Geralt’s hands cupped Jaskier’s face and Jaskier’s hands were grasping gently at the front of his husband’s tunic. The Witcher’s lips moved softly against his newly anointed husband’s, pressing little promises into the soft pink skin. When they parted, the Beast gave Jaskier an additional kiss to the forehead before turning to their ‘guests’.
“You saw what you needed to see. Now get out of Kaer Morhen and never return!”
---
Once the castle had been cleared of intruders and the doors were all locked firmly shut behind them, Geralt gathered his bride into his arms. He removed the delicate veil and set it to the side. “You look so beautiful.”
“You clean up rather nicely yourself, dear husband.”
Geralt blushed sweetly at the honorific and Jaskier grinned.
He threw his slender arms around the Witcher’s broad shoulders and laughed brightly, filling the hall with the sound of joy. “Oh, my husband, my Beast! We are wed at last! We shall never be parted!”
The Witcher swept his new spouse up into his arms and took off towards the kitchen. “I know you thought that we’d be going directly to the bedroom after our little ceremony,” he teased. “But no Witcher wedding is complete without a feast.”
“A feast for just the two of us?” Jaskier asked.
“Yes. I...I followed my adoptive father’s recipe. He only made it once before, and that was so many years ago, but I hope that I have done him proud.”
“You’ve certainly impressed your bride,” Jaskier winked. “We both know I’m a rather hopeless cook.”
“Hmm,” the Beast smiled and nodded. “Aye.”
“And yet you married me.”
Geralt paused their journey to press another series of heated kisses to his little husband’s eager mouth. “Are you still happy to have me, little bird?”
“The only place I’ll ever be happy again is in your arms, my darling, delicate Beast.”
“Then I suppose,” Geralt whispered, setting Jaskier back on his feet and winding his arms around his consort’s waist. He dropped his forehead down until it rested against Jaskier’s and looked into those bright blue eyes with complete and utter confidence, “That I will never let you go.”
I wanted to finish up the night with some fluff so @thecomfortofoldstorries came through with: Geralt is the one receiving affection (little spoon)
so without further ado...
---
Geralt’s head is resting on the bard’s chest and the rest of his body has found a way to tangle around Jaskier like a clinging vine. One of the bard’s arms is wrapped around the Witcher’s shoulders while the other moves in a steady, soothing rhythm against the Witcher’s scarred back. Up and down. Up and down.
The same pattern of movements and breathing until the White Wolf is purring against his side.
“Give me your butt,” Jaskier urges, pulling his arm free and shaking some of the feeling back into it. Geralt obliges, spinning onto his side so that he’s facing away from Jaskier. “Thank you, love.”
He scoots closer, pressing the planes of his slight and slender frame against the strong, taut lines of Geralt’s much firmer physique.
“Would you like it it I were bigger?” Jaskier asks. “Stronger, I mean. Like you are.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I love you this way,” Geralt’s fingers intertwine with Jaskier’s where it rests atop the Witcher’s stomach. “I love you the way you’ve always been. Like a willow tree. Strong and adaptable; you bend so far before you’re ever tempted to break.”
Jaskier tears up and buries his face in the loose, silver hair hanging across the back of Geralt’s neck. “Oh, my love.”
“Shh,” the Witcher’s hand squeezes his again. “Go to sleep.”
“Sweet dreams,” Jaskier says. He presses a series of soft, damp kisses to the skin of Geralt’s neck and shoulders. The Witcher shudders and presses back, getting himself as close as possible to the bard’s comforting, natural warm. He is the embodiment of feeling at home. Geralt hopes never to part from it. “I love you, Geralt.”
