Write about a snuggle pile
oh yes. this is exactly what I needed.
no tws, only softness
---
Geralt doesn’t know what to do. Jaskier can’t seem to stop fucking shivering. The overprotective Witcher really and truly did his best to keep the bard warm during their trek up the Killer but Jaskier’s sweat is likely close to freezing and making everything so much worse.
When they finally manage to strongarm their way through the front door and into the great hall, Lambert and Eskel are already sitting near the roaring fire; they’re wrapped in enormous furs and appear as two large, formless lumps. “Eskel! Lambert! Quickly, I need your help.”
The two other Wolf Witchers scurry to their brother’s aid. Eskel hefts the bard into his arms and heads toward the fireplace while Lambert disappears with Geralt back into the darkness outside, likely to take care of Roach and grab their bags.
“You’re l-l-larger than G-Geralt,” Jaskier manages to stutter from between his chattering teeth. “B-B-B-roader. Didn’t th-think it was p-p-possible.”
“I’m older by one summer,” Eskel informs him. “Had more time to grow before we both went through the Trials over the same long spring.”
“Oh.”
“But that’s not what you’re here for,” Eskel grins. “No sad stories on your first night, little brother. Now, have you ever sat in the middle of a litter of excited puppies?”
“Y-Yes?” Jaskier raises a curious eyebrow. “Wh-Wh-Why?”
“Well, snuggling with three very excited Wolf Witchers is a probably going to be a similar experience. Since you’re Geralt’s visitor I suppose that means you’ll want to be closest to him, and that works just fine. I’ll definitely take your left flank for safety and Lambert can be on top. Or, if you want, you can lay on top of Geralt and we can box you in on the sides.”
“Hmm,” Jaskier smiles, already loving Kaer Morhen more than life itself. “I like the way that second one sounds.”
---
Jaskier is very warm and very happy and very very sleepy. He’s laying on top of Geralt with his face buried in the Witcher’s warm neck. He’s eaten, he’s gotten changed into dry clothes, and he’s been given permission to share Geralt’s room for the winter.
Now it’s time to enjoy himself and the all the glorious forms of warmth this old keep has to offer. Currently he’s laying on the far side of the great hall in front of the largest fireplace he’s ever seen. Geralt’s two enormous arms are wrapped around him, holding him in place and keeping the fur blanket from slipping away even as his broad hands sweep slowly up and down the bard’s fragile spine. Eskel is laying to their left with one heavy arm thrown over the pile and Lambert is on the right doing the same. Jaskier has never felt happier or safer in his entire life.
“I love you all,” he grins, dopey and exhausted. The words are barely a whisper but he knows all three men can hear him. “I love Geralt most, of course. But you’re all wonderful. And yes, I will be writing a song about this.”
Lambert hisses but there isn’t any real heat in it. Eskel grins lopsidedly, nodding approval. Geralt merely squeezes his arms a little tighter for a moment, used to playing the role of Muse, and resumes rubbing his hands up and down the bard’s back.
Jaskier really loves Kaer Morhen.