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just-another-fanfic · 2 years

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In The Woods Somewhere - Emiel Regis x Reader

Regis is my sweet baby boy and I love him to bits. Here’s the first chapter of a fic I’m working on for my AO3.

The night was pitch as coal when the damp earth shifted, an unseen force disturbing the long discarded patch of land. Thin fingers pierced the veil of dewy grass and fauna in a frantic desperation to escape the long forgotten grave below.

Fingertips were soon joined by a pale forearm thoroughly covered in dirt. It groped around, searching for some purchase - anything of use to free it from its confinement. After a few moments the extremity was joined by its twin, this one much quicker to emerge due to the work of the former.

Finally, the first hand wrapped around a close growing bramble. It wrapped its pale fingers around the base of the plant and pulled, giving strain to the root system that it had spent years developing, and pulling some of the tightly packed earth up with it.

More shifting dirt, the indignant chattering of a family of disturbed chipmunks, and the snapping of weaker root tendrils too reluctant to emerge. Finally, the face of a man, dark hair grown long and streaked with thin ribbons of silver, erupted from the ground. A gasp escaped his lips, replaced by the first breath he had taken in over half a century.

Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy took in a second breath, then another, allowing himself a moment’s respite from his current objective to appreciate the sweet springtime air.

His lungs didn’t need the oxygen. He had survived nearly a lifetime without it, but his desperation to taste the air and feel it’s presence within him had begun to drive him mad. The desire to breathe again spurred him to emerge, perhaps sooner than his physical form would have liked.

Several minutes went by before he continued his ascent. He placed his hands on either side of him, elbows bent at a ninety degree angle and palms pressed into the grass to push himself upwards. His limbs shook with the effort, his physical form not yet fully healed from the injuries sustained all those years ago, but he was positive he was well enough to leave this prison. He had to be.

Finally, he pulled his last remaining limb from the ground and collapsed into the glistening grass with a sigh. He took another moment to take in that sweet, marvelous air - smiling despite the current state of himself - when he smelled it.

The switch in his brain seemed to flip to a side of himself he had long debated with, pleaded with. He foolishly hoped he had left it there in that shallow grave, but just the waft of a living being was enough to send him into a barely controllable lust.

Blood. Human blood.

He shook his head angrily, and a lock of mud-caked hair fell between his brows.

He could smell everything about her; her age, her physique, even the elevated level of dopamine in her body - she must have been enjoying whatever it was she was doing - that would make her blood taste so much sweeter to him when his fangs puncture her jugular.

“Perhaps,” Regis bargained with himself, “this is what I need to finally get clean. One last time, and then I’ll be free of it.”

He clenched his jaw, teeth grinding uncomfortably as he struggled internally with his predicament.

“What was the point of all that time if I’m just going to relapse at the first opportunity?”

The light breeze that tousled the tree branches above him brought with it another pang of desire.

She was coming closer.

Regis scrambled to his feet, stumbling over to the trunk of a nearby elm to steady himself. He wasn’t expecting to face this demon within himself so soon. He had planned to isolate, hide away from humanity for another fifty years at least before daring to allow himself around others. Perhaps he’d sate himself with the blood of animals, wean himself off of his cravings.

But alas, he had to make a decision, and he had to make it now.

Lantern light cast long shadows over the nearby trees, and the soft singing of a young woman reached his ears. Regis cursed himself for not hearing it sooner. Had she just started? We’re his ears filled with dirt? Perhaps his regeneration wasn’t as far along as he thought.

The lantern was coming closer, and he stumbled away from the source, leaden feet managing several heavy strides before catching on an upturned tree root and sending him crashing back down into the brush. He let out a groan, immediately attempting to muffle it with his forearm.

Unfortunately, the damage had been done.

The singing ceased, and there was a brief pause in the night air when all was silent. It was quickly interrupted by light, urgent footsteps and the careless snapping of branches as the woman closed the distance between them.

“Is this my fate?” Regis pondered bitterly, “am I doomed by the universe to be plagued by this thirst without even the chance to overcome it?”

He tried to sound menacing as she approached, to terrify her with his words when the rest of his body would not obey him, but all that came out of Regis’s mouth when the lantern light hovered above him was a half croaked, “Don’t - please don’t.”

His voice was hoarse from years of not being used. As soon as the words left his lips Regis knew he had hardly a chance to startle a pigeon, let alone a woman.

“Oh, gods…” She whispered, looking down at him in horror. Her eyes swept over Regis quickly, taking in the state of him with an air that might have been calculated - professional even - had the circumstances been different.

After making the impromptu analysis, she repeated the words, this time with more body in her voice.

“Get out of here you stupid, stupid woman.” Regis begged silently, “You’re leading yourself to your own demise.”

Only she would not be able to escape it, as Regis had escaped his own. Her body would lie here to rot, once drained. The forest inhabitants would make use of the discarded vessel, and soon only her bones would be left behind.

Another surge of macabre desire forced itself to the forefront of his mind, and he winced. He turned his head away from her, hoping she would look around at the scene and piece together what had happened. Surely no one would bring home a man that had dragged himself out of his tomb.

She crouched down beside him, the close proximity allowing Regis see her features more acutely. She was a pretty thing, with sharp, inquisitive eyes and dark circles underneath them. She was tired.

Despite the pressing concerns surrounding the current situation, Regis idly wondered what time it was.

“Can you stand?” She asked. Her voice was soft, somehow calm even after finding a strange man stumbling around in the forest at night.

He debated on asking if this was a common occurrence, but settled on shaking his head.

“Well you’re going to have to, because I can’t carry you,” she said flatly.

“Just leave me here.” Regis thought miserably.

She reached out a hand, clasping it around his forearm. Instinctively, Regis mirrored the gesture. The woman pulled him up to his feet and let him lean back against the treasonous oak that tripped him earlier. He was fairly certain the trees in this area hadn’t been there when he was buried.

“Tell you what,” the woman said, slinging one of his arms around her shoulders and stooping down momentarily to grab the lantern with her free hand, “If you can agree not to rob me or kill me in my sleep, I won’t ask about why you were roaming around on my property absolutely caked in mud. Deal?”

Regis managed a raspy chuckle and nodded. Given how he was feeling at present, he doubted he could hurt her if he tried. The desire to sink his teeth into her neck was overwhelming, and yet his body simply wouldn’t offer the meager amount of agility required to do the task. Not in a manner that he could enjoy, at least.

He leaned against her smaller frame as she steered him through the foreign grove, cautioning him when an obstacle was in the way. He could see much better than she could, but murmured his appreciation regardless.

The trees soon thinned out into sparse saplings and underbrush before ceasing entirely into soft grass speckled with native flowers. It must have been sometime around May.

“I don’t normally wander around this late,” the woman murmured, creating conversation to fill the silence, “I was collecting some mushrooms for a friend. They’re difficult as all hell to find, and look uncomfortably similar to Fly Agaric during the day. It’s bioluminescent though, so I prefer to harvest it at night. It’s worth the missed sleep - has wonderful healing properties.”

Regis listened halfheartedly to her murmurings as they walked up to what he assumed to be her home. It was a modest size, but the wood was new and of excellent quality. The front door was solid mahogany with a cast iron handle, and an ornate engraving was burned into the wood of the top half.

The woman opened the door, which turned noiselessly on its well oiled hinges and ushered Regis inside. He stepped through the threshold and let his gaze roam over the inside of her lodgings, his curiosity now piqued.

Small metal instruments were set neatly along a long wooden table. Various scalpels, needles - some straight, others curved for sutures -, and bottles of analgesics and antiseptics lined the polished countertops of a large workspace that took up about half of her home. The other half, divided by a folding privacy wall, appeared actually devoted to living.

A small, dark blue sofa sat in front of a smoldering fireplace, embers still glowing from the day before. Twin armchairs of the same sapphire hue were positioned on either side, small wooden end tables separated the furniture. On the far wall, a closed door concealed what Regis assumed was her bedroom. A coat rack stood on the living side of the interior occupied only by a men’s leather coat, too large for the woman behind him to wear.

“Gods, what if she’s married?” Regis thought, suddenly worried, “What if she has children?”

His eyebrows knitted together in poorly concealed anxiety. All it would take was a momentary lapse in resolve, and he could instantly destroy the lives of an entire family.

“Welcome to my home-slash-business,” The young woman said, holding her hands up grandly as she stepped past him further into the house. She turned around to look at him, and the smile slowly slid from her face, “Is something the matter?”

Regis realized he had been visibly brooding and scrambled to come up with an explication that wasn’t “I might eat your family.”

The resulting answer was, “I do hope you aren’t planning to dissect me.”

There was a beat of silence, and suddenly the woman erupted into rolling laughter. Regis couldn’t help but smile in return, letting a out a raspy laugh of his own; His first laugh in fifty years.

“I’m sure this all looks bad,” she conceded, suddenly a bit sheepish “but I assure you it’s all very benign. I’m (Y/N); healer, leather worker, and on occasion, nighttime mushroom collector.”

She gestured to Regis expectantly, “May I ask the name of the strange man I’ve just invited into my home?”

“I’m Regis; Vampire, cynic, and on occasion, buried in your backyard.” Regis thought wryly.

“I’m Regis,” he replied, offering a tight lipped smile as he thought of more pleasant descriptions of himself to give, “Reader, traveller, and on occasion, lost in the woods.”

(Y/N) grinned, “Quite right.”

She clapped her hands together and looked him up and down with that same clinical expression she wore when she found him, though the concern was mostly evaporated. Other than the dirt and grime involved with being underground for half a century, there was nothing visibly wrong with him.

“Now, what to do about those clothes,” she pondered aloud. “I hate to break it to you, Regis, but I don’t think they’re salvageable.”

Regis glanced down at himself and grimaced. The clothes he was wearing were obviously the same he had been wearing the night he nearly died over a generation ago. And, well, they certainly looked the part. His woolen cloak was tattered, and his cotton tunic was practically nonexistent - rags pinned to his torso by the very torn leather doubled that had otherwise remained in one piece. His trousers were thankfully made of a more durable material, only suffering from a large amount of fraying and tears.

He didn’t want to think about the status of his braes.

“Yes,” he sighed, turning his torso to look down at the clothing in different angles, “… I’m afraid you might be right about that.”

“I think I have something..” (Y/N) trailed off, screwing her face up as if trying to remember, “wait here.”

She turned on her heel and paced over to the other side of the house, opening the far door and pausing just outside of the doorframe.

“Make yourself at home - and please sit down. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

Regis opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a stern look that seemed very out of place on her young visage.

“Don’t worry about the furniture, it can be cleaned. Gods know I have more than enough solvents to do it. Sit.”

The last word commanded obedience in a way that only a well respected physician could, and Regis obeyed. He tentatively sat down into the dark blue armchair and relaxed after a moment, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes appreciatively. He could have fallen asleep then and there, but a few moments later (Y/N) returned from the other room with a folded stack of clothes in her arms.

“I don’t how well they’ll fit..” she began apologetically, “but they’ll have to do for now. You can change in here, I’ll be in the other room. Just holler when you’re done and I’ll get some tea going, hm?”

Regis took the clothes from her outstretched hands, utterly bewildered. His eyes moved from the clean linens to her kind gaze, and an awful pit settled into his stomach. He felt terribly undeserving of it all.

“.. If you need help I can -,”

Regis cut her off suddenly with a hasty assurance that such assistance would not be necessary. He immediately felt bad, as the woman was only doing her job, and gave her an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, I just… I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?” He asked quietly, “You don’t even know me.”

“Of course I know you,” she replied gently, hands now positioned on her hips, “You’re Regis; reader, traveller, and woefully missing a sense of direction.”

She walked back towards her room, turning to give him another plain look, “Now, put those clothes on before your pants fall off and I see something I don’t want to.”

The door closed behind her with a soft thud. Regis shook his head at the absolute ridiculousness of it all, but did as he was told.

“You can do this, Regis.” He told himself, “You can become a better man.”

#reader insert #emiel regis #Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy x Reader #Young Emiel Regis #This man doesn’t get enough love and I hate it #please send regis requests I’m BEGGING #the witcher fanfiction #Emiel Regis x reader

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just-another-fanfic · 2 years

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What You Want - Eskel x Reader

Here’s another Eskel one-shot because I’m a thirsty bitch and this man doesn’t get enough love. This one is.. shameless smut, just fair warning

Firelight crackled merrily in the main hall of Kaer Morhen, casting a warm glow over a large wooden table, around which sat three large men, metal tankards clasped between their hands.

You strode up to the table, setting down your own tankard, brimming with a concoction of strong vodka and fresh orange juice. The men, already rosey cheeked with intoxication, welcomed your arrival.

“Heeeey, (Y/N) showed up!” Lambert exclaimed happily, “About time, too. This was beginning to turn into a sausage fest.”

“It was a sausage fest,” you corrected, falling into the empty wooden chair on his left. “I heard what you three were talking about.”

“Well this’ll certainly be more interesting,” Lambert said after gulping down another drink of.. whatever it was he had in his tankard. “We’ve never drank with a female witcher before.”

“What’s the term for a female Witcher, I wonder.” Eskel said, tapping his scarred lower lip with his index finger, “D’you think the name changes?”

“No idea,” you said with a shrug, “I wasn’t trained at any of the Witcher schools, so I didn’t get a definitive term for the female counterpart.”

“It’d probably still be witcher.” Lambert said dismissively.

“Witcheress?” Geralt suggested.

“Witcher, Witcheress,” you waved a hand vaguely in the air, “Or perhaps just ‘Better’.”

The men rolled their eyes, groaning at the jab. You smiled against the rim of your cup and took a long drink of your vodka/juice concoction. You’d been pregaming for a short time already, so it didn’t take long for the pleasant flush of intoxication to show on your cheeks.

You looked around at your drinking companions, perhaps lingering a bit longer than you’d intended on the man directly opposite to you. Eskel was built like a barrel, with broad shoulders, wide chest, and beefy arms that rested at the elbows on the wooden table in front of him. His eyes were framed in thick, dark lashes beneath eyebrows that almost always seemed to be knitted together in a stern expression.

He was focused on his drink, but glanced up at you after a moment, sensing your eyes on him.

Feeling emboldened by the alcohol already, you winked at him. He didn’t return it, though you noticed the corners of his mouth turn upwards before he took a very long drink from his mug.

Oh, you wanted him bad.

Several more rounds and multiple games of Gwent and dice poker went by. Yennifer briefly joined your company, though she excused herself to go to bed soon after. The boys began to deliberate on a new game to pass the evening.

“Oh, I’ve got a game we can play; a student from Oxenfurt taught me.” Lambert said. His hair stuck out in odd directions, ruffled from trying on one of Vesemir’s old hats a few minutes earlier, “someone starts off by saying ‘I’ve never’ and finishing the sentence however they want. Anyone who’s done that thing downs a shot, then it’s the next guy’s turn.”

“Sounds fun,” you said with a grin, downing another mouthful of your vodka. Lambert hummed approvingly.

“Right, but now we’re drinking the strong stuff.” He said, topping off your half-empty tankard with white gull and vodka to emphasize his point.

You wrinkled your nose at the strong smell now wafting up from your drink.

“Oh come on, ‘Witcheress’.” Lambert teased, patting you on the back encouragingly, “Drink the good shit with us. Think of it as a christening.”

“Fine,” you conceded, “but if I get too drunk, I’m appointing Eskel to make sure I don’t get into trouble.” You looked over at him pointedly.

“Shouldn’t be too hard.” Eskel said, taking another drink.

Geralt, having hindsight on how difficult you can be to manage whilst intoxicated, chuckled darkly.

“I’ve never… slept with a succubus.” Lambert said slowly, initiating the game and slurring a bit on his words.

You lifted your mug and took a drink. The White Gull, not masked by the juice nearly as well as you’d have hoped, went down smoothly, but it burned. Your stomach heated up, the warmth of it seeming to spread outwards until you could feel a pleasant buzzing in the tips of your fingers.

Geralt and Eskel did the same.

“How ‘bout that!” Lambert said, clearly amused. “Expected Geralt might’ve, but you two?”

“I’m a sucker for women with horns.” Eskel said in his gravelly voice. His eyes, liquid gold in the firelight, glittered with a hint of mischief.

“And I’m a sucker for horny women.” You said, playing on the same nonchalant tone Eskel had set.

The right side of his face quirked up in a lopsided smirk. This time he returned the wink.

“Right, my turn.” Eskel continued, “I’ve never, after a bender, woken up wearing nothing but my knickers.”

You lifted your mug again, taking another drink in tandem with Geralt and Lambert.

“Garalt?” Eskel gasped in feigned disappointment, “Lambert’s a lost cause, but you? What would Papa Vesemir say?”

“I think Papa Vesemir would’ve drank that round, too.” Geralt replied, shrugging.

“I think I’m beginning to like our Witcheress here more and more.” Lambert slurred, clapping you on the back emphatically. “Anyone that wakes up in their knickers after a binge is a friend of mine.”

“Geralt’s just lucky he found me in anything at all.” You said with a laugh. taking another drink. Your cheeks were pleasantly read now, and a flush was beginning to creep down your chest.

“Yeah,” Geralt said, rolling his eyes. He took another drink. “Covered in mud, wading around in a swamp trying to wrestle a water hag.”

“How’d you end up in that situation?” Eskel asked you, clearly interested.

“She stole my clothes,” you explained, “woke up to piss and they were gone. I followed the tracks from camp into the swamp and there she was, trying to figure out how to put on my cuirass.”

Laughter rang out all around the table.

“All right Geralt, your turn.” Eskel continued. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve never..?”

“..Jumped out a lover’s window.” Geralt finished. He leaned his elbows on the table, waiting expectantly for the other players.

Lambert was the only one who drank.

“That so.. must’ve been one tough character who’s wife you were ploughing.” Eskel mused.

“That wasn’t it,” Lambert said, looking as though he might wince at the memory, “He was a friend. Didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“Yeah, you’re a true friend,” Eskel said dryly.

“Okay, my turn.” You said hastily, cutting off the argument before it began. You took another drink, allowing time for some suspense to build. “I’ve never…”

You pondered for a moment.

“… paid for sex.” you finished, smirking.

All three men groaned, and drank.

“Hey, I’ve taken you to brothels before.” Geralt said, his tone accusatory, “And I know damn well I didn’t pay for you.”

“Yes, but I’m a woman and a Witcher, making me a novelty.” You said haughtily, “They loved listening to tales of someone like them going on adventures and slaying monsters, for a change. And, I know what women like. They wouldn’t take my coin.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed.

You smiled broadly, “Does this mean I win?”

“It means I’m out of vodka. Who’s gonna go get more?” Lambert mumbled, looking down forlornly at his mug. He turned hopefully to Geralt.

“Already went,” Geralt grumbled in response, “to get food.”

“All right.. I’ll do it,” Eskel slurred, turning slightly in his seat as if to get up, “Kitchen.. it’s that way right?”

He looked off vaguely to his left, his yellow eyes narrowing as if he could read the answer to his question on the far wall.

Lambert and Geralt gave no answer, and you didn’t know Kaer Morhen well enough to give any advice worth listening to. Eskel stood up anyway, looked around slowly, and walked off in the entirely opposite direction he had referenced the moment before.

You looked down at the remainder of your drink and fumbled it into your hands. It couldn’t have taken longer than a few seconds to drain the rest, but when you set down the tankard, Lambert and Geralt were in a tight hug, clapping each other on the back and mumbling something about being brothers.

“Well that’s sweet,” you said, leaning back into your chair. “I knew all that bickering was because you really care.”

Lambert let out a yelp and the two broke apart, both looking at you with accusatory expressions.

“Fuck, (Y/N)!” Lambert growled, rubbing his face with his hand. “I’ll be honest, I kinda forgot you were here.”

“Geralt have that kinda effect on you, huh?” you asked. Lambert merely made a crude gesture in response.

“Where’s Eskel?” Geralt asked, looking around hazily, “he shoulda been back by now.. We should go look for him.”

The two began to bicker when Lambert put Vesemir’s hat on, and you decided to go find him yourself. You carefully navigated the minefield of empty bottles strewn around the table and wandered into the passage away from the dining hall, calling out for Eskel every few seconds.

You were sure he hadn’t gone terribly far; it had only been a few minutes since he left. However, as unfamiliar as you were with the labyrinth that was Kaer Morhen, you managed to stumble your way into the kitchen. Eskel was nowhere to be seen.

From there you meandered your way around the chilly, crumbling fortress and checked down in the cellar. Still no sign of him.

“Fuck this,” you muttered. You took a slow, deep breath, letting your brain process all the scents around you. The familiar scent of sage, woodsmoke, and sweat caught your attention. Could that be him?

You’d traveled with Geralt long enough to pick up his scent in a horse barn, and Lambert hadn’t touched the fire that evening, so you decided it had to be Eskel.

You began to follow your nose, leaning against the wall for support as you blundered through the hall and out the doors of the keep into the freezing night air. The scent immediately became stronger, and was now accompanied by the sound of a deep, low groan.

“Eskel?” You called out before all but tumbling down the stone steps of the keep entrance. You fumbled back to your feet and walked down a pathway, grinning when you found him curled up on the ground. A white goat was nibbling affectionately at his ear.

“Enjoying yourself?” You asked, crouching down to get a better look at him.

Eskel groaned again, feebly swatting away the goat’s benign advances and opening his eyes to look up at you. His pupils dilated ever so slightly when he saw you, it was almost imperceptible.

Almost.

“Wh.. what happened?” Eskel slurred. You extended a hand, which he took, and pulled him up to his feet.

Or you would have, if you weren’t inebriated. But alas, the vodka and white gull hit you pretty hard, and you weren’t exactly as sure of your balance as you normally would have been. Eskel gave a feeble tug, and you toppled over, landing right on top of him. He let out a huff of air at the sudden weight against his chest.

“Well that.. wasn’t supposed to happen.” you mumbled. Eskel chuckled in reply, the sound reverberating through his chest into yours.

Your faces were inches apart. Eskel blinked slowly up at you. His face was impossible to read, like a stone slate, but his wide eyes gave him away. Two dark pools surrounded by a thin ring of liquid gold, taking in your every feature. He was holding his breath.

You bit your lip and rolled off of him after a moment’s hesitation. struggling back up into a sitting position and hoping he’d blame the flush in your cheeks on the alcohol.

“Sure you wanna try that again?” Eskel asked, displaying an impressive amount of coordination in his drunken state by raising a single eyebrow.

“Well I certainly can’t just leave you here like this.” you said indignantly, gesturing to the goat, “you’re being maimed, after all.”

Eskel smirked and, with a great deal of effort, got up to his feet. You did the same, and the two of you shuffled back towards the fortress, leaning on each other for support.

“I’m not drinking anymore, tonight,” Eskel vowed, shaking his head, “This shit always happens when the three of us get together.. or four of us now, I suppose.”

You smiled at the ground, a warm feeling entirely unrelated to the alcohol spread in your chest.

“Me either,” you said, “Despite what Geralt may have told the two of you, I do prefer to avoid getting absolutely shitfaced.”

You headed for the dining hall, but halted just at the entrance. Geralt and Lambert were trudging in slow circles around the room, looking under tables and wailing, “Eskel… ESKEEEEL!?” Every few seconds.

Lambert tripped, falling on his hands and knees and crawled beneath one of the tables.

“Lambert?” Geralt called, whipping his head around to search for his friend, “Where’d.. where’d you go?”

“Geralt?” Lambert replied from beneath the table, “Where’d the lights go? Where are you?!”

“I think we should let them keep looking.” you whispered.

Eskel let out a soft snort of laughter and nodded in agreement. The two of you turned into another passage and found your way into what appeared to be a small study. There were two full bookshelves on either side of a crackling fireplace. In front of which two very comfortable looking armchairs sat on a threadbare rug. A lone bed was tucked away in the corner, its coverings had been straightened out, but were obviously used rather recently.

“Welcome to my abode.” Eskel said, attempting a grand gesture and stumbling slightly, “let’s see how long it takes them to find me.”

He traipsed into the room and fell heavily into one of the armchairs, gesturing for you to do the same.

You followed Eskel’s lead, collapsing into the armchair opposite to him. The firelight danced along his features, casting deep shadows where the scars cut into his his cheek.

“Pretty bad, huh?”

You blinked, shaking yourself back to reality, realizing you’d been openly staring at his scars for longer than would be deemed appropriate.

“I wouldn’t say that,” you said, “It’d have been bad if you lost an eye.”

Eskel let out a short laugh, “That certainly wouldn’t have helped my already dim chances with the ladies, that’s for sure.”

He ran a hand through his hair, sweeping the dark locks away from his face before they fell back stubbornly where they liked.

A pang of something you didn’t quite recognize shot through you at his remark. You hadn’t known him for long, but you knew Eskel was a genuinely good person. It bothered you quite a bit to see him talk about himself that way. Especially as you’d been waiting to make a move on him for the better part of the time you’d been in Kaer Morhen.

“Your chances don’t look too bad right now,” You said bluntly, “That is, if you’d be interested.”

Eskel’s eyebrows raised.

“Though I suppose most people wouldn’t consider me a lady, given my occupation.” You continued, rising to your feet and slowly closing the distance between you.

He straightened up in his chair, his head tilted slightly to the side as he watched you move towards him. You could hear his pulse start to race.

You sat down in his lap unabashedly, searching his eyes for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. All you found was curiosity. He was looking at you as if he’d never seen anything quite like you in his life. He let out shaky breath when your hands reached up to cup his face.

“What’re you..” he started, trailing off when your thumbs traced circles lightly on his cheekbones. He relaxed into your hands, letting his eyes slide shut.

“You’re.. you’re drunk.” He mumbled, opening one eye. “I don’t want to do this while you’re drunk.”

You let your hands fall from his face.

“I’m not too drunk to think.” You said, “but if you’d prefer to wait until we’re both sober, I get it.”

“I.. you have to understand,” He insisted, sighing heavily, “Spending the night with a woman only to find her horrified at the sight of you by morning.. it isn’t the greatest feeling in the world.”

The words broke your heart.

Wordlessly, you lifted your hands back up to his face, tracing the jagged scars lightly with your fingertips.

“I’m not in your room because I’m too drunk to care what you look like. I’m in this room because I’ve wanted to jump your bones since the first day I met you.”

Eskel closed his eyes again as you ran a hand through his dark hair. He leaned into your touch, and in that moment his brooding demeanor seemed to relax.

“I’m in this room because I’m very, very attracted to you; scars and all.” you continued quietly, “so if you want to wait for me to tell you all of this when we’re sober, that’s fine. But it won’t change all of the things I want to do to you.”

Eskel let out another shaky breath. He shifted slightly in the chair, giving his hips better contact with the back of your legs. You could feel the bulge of his growing erection through his trousers, now pressed against firmly against your inner thigh.

You followed his lead, shifting yourself so you were straddling him. You rocked your hips forward, earning a low groan in reply. His hands found your hips, and they pulled you towards him hungrily.

His cock, still confined beneath his clothes, pressed against your core, but your own clothes were very much in the way of any sensation. You shifted your hips again, frustrated with the lack of friction.

“May I?”

Eskel nodded. His cheeks were flushed, eyes following your movements from beneath his lashes.

You stood up and slowly began removing your armor. Enough of the alcohol had been filtered out of your system that you were able to undo the clasps of your curiass without much difficulty. You tossed it aside and it landed on the rug with a dull ‘thud’.

You could feel Eskel’s eyes on you as you lifted your arms and pulled your linen shift up and over your head. He looked awestruck, watching you remove your smallclothes as if he’d never truly seen a naked woman before.

“Gods…” he whispered, shifting restlessly in his chair as you kneeled down on the floor and rested your arms on his thighs, “You’re mesmerizing.”

“The gods aren’t the ones being worshipped tonight.” you murmured, looking up at him while your fingers easily unfastened his belt. Eskel shifted his hips upwards to assist you in pulling his trousers down. His erection, finally freed from all constraint, sprang upwards.

A sudden heat began to pool at the junction of your thighs. He was magnificent.

You reached up, wrapping your fingers around the base of his thick shaft. You stroked the length of him slowly, swirling your thumb lightly around the head. His cock twitched impatiently in your hand, the vein running along the underside thrummed in anticipation.

The groans you pulled from him with your hand alone was enough to make your legs shake.

You met his eyes briefly, smiling at the look of sheer adoration on his face. Your gaze dipped back down to his sex, and you used the tip of your tongue to trace a thin line upwards from the hilt of his cock up to the tip.

“I - oh fuck, (Y/N), you don’t have to-“

Eskel’s words were cut off by a long, gutteral moan when your lips closed around the head of his cock. You swirled your tongue around it’s tip before taking the full length of him, tantalizingly slow, until your lips met the base. His hips suddenly bucked against your mouth, prompting you to swallow back your gag reflex. The muscles at the back of your throat contracted around him and he practically cried out, moaning and stammering your name as if it were a prayer.

Sering heat burned at your core, but you did your best to ignore it. You were suddenly determined to break this man down completely before you felt your own release. You let your eyes flutter open and looked up at him through your lashes, moaning yourself at the sight of him.

Eskel’s back was arched in his chair, his head thrown back in ecstasy. His chest, still hidden in his black and maroon jerkin, rose and fell frantically in shallow breaths as your mouth worked absolute magic on him. At the sound of your moan he looked down, taking in the look of your lips around him hungrily.

You let your lips slide back up the length of him, breaking the suction with a lewd ‘pop’.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, your voice was husky and breathless.

Eskel merely shook his head in response, breathing raggedly.

“Tell me what you want.”

Words apparently failing him, Eskel opted instead to run a large hand through your hair, firmly gripping the back of your head and guiding your mouth back to his waiting cock. Another pang of desire shot up from your aching sex, and your legs trembled with such an anticipation you’d never felt before.

You fought your own desires back again, focus returning to Eskel’s needs. You took him back into your mouth, increasing the suction and bobbing your head up and vigorously, the pace set by his hand in your hair. His hips bucked wildly to meet your mouth, the sudden intensity causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes.

Your heart, normally a slow, steady thrum, was hammering wildly in your ears and competing with the speed of Eskel’s. The rhythmic thrusting against your face became erratic, and you looked up just in time to watch him come completely undone.

He held your head down at the base of his cock, wildly fucking your face with every thrust of his hips. His jaw clenched, and his lips pulled back to bear his teeth as he let out a rumbling growl. You felt his cock twitch in your mouth, and his grip loosened on your hair just as he began to spill into the back of your throat.

You eagerly swallowed his load, hungrily sucking every last drop from him. His legs trembled violently, and you were only vaguely aware of his incoherent pleading at the sudden overstimulation.

You released his cock when you were sure you’d swallowed all he had to give you. He was panting, his damp hair clinging to his face. The aftershocks were still rolling through him, making him twitch and whimper.

You started trailing kisses down to his inner thighs, playfully nipping at the sensitive skin. He gasped at the unexpected sensation, another drop of spend welling up and dripping down the head of his cock.

“You’re trying to kill me,” he managed, voice breaking. “You’re going to give me a fucking heart attack.”

“Fine,” you sighed playfully, laying your head in his lap and looking up at him, “I’ll behave.”

The two of you sat like that for a few seconds, catching your breath. Eskel grew very still and his breathing slowed. You thought for a moment that he’d fallen asleep, but his eyes fluttered open after a beat. He looked down, eyes suddenly regarding you with a calculating stare.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he informed you, his voice going dangerously low, “get in the bed.”

The incessant desire in your cunt returned with a vengeance, and you had to bite your lip to stifle a whimper. You obliged, standing on your trembling legs and walking the short distance to the bed. You moved the covers out of the way and laid down obediently, fighting against overwhelming urge to touch yourself.

Eskel collected himself for a few moments longer before rising to his feet. He shucked off his doublet and stepped out of his trousers, removing the boots from his feet and letting them fall to the floor. He directed his attention to the bed, eyes glowing in the firelight as he stalked towards you with a stare that sent shivers up your spine.

Whatever you’d done to him had worked, apparently. His inhibitions were seemingly thrown out the window. He towered over you, knees between your legs and elbows positioned on either side of your head. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“Did you think I was just going to fuck your face like a selfish animal and just pass out?” He asked quietly, his breath tickling your ear. An uncontrollable shudder rippled through you, earning a low chuckle from him.

“No,” you said earnestly, “but my feelings wouldn’t have been hurt if you had.” Your voice shook with anticipation, betraying the calm demeanor you tried so hard to keep up.

Eskel hummed, his eyes searching yours before his lips found your neck, trailing kisses down to your chest. He took one of your nipples into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue, ripping a surprised moan from you. His eyes glittered as he released your breast, continuing to kiss down your abdomen and slowing to a stop just above your hips.

“I think someone needs this a bit more than she’s letting on.” Eskel crooned, his nose nuzzling the curve where your thigh met your pelvis. He kissed your inner thighs, biting them playfully, mimicking your previous actions.

“Mmmmh, Eskel please,” you whined, back arching at his touch. You raised your hips desperately, your aching cunt begging for release.

You felt the tip of his tongue slide over your slit, tracing little circles around your clit. He held your hips down with his hands and teased you until you were begging before finally assaulting your clit with flicks of his tongue. Pangs of white-hot pleasure shot up your spine from your core, making you tremble and convulse beneath him. You moaned, grinding your hips against him, begging for more.

He slid a finger inside you, then another, smirking at how easily you took them.

“Oh, someone’s excited, isn’t she?” He whispered before flicking your clit with his tongue again. “You’re dripping for me.”

Your hands balled into fists, gripping the sheets beneath you in a frantic attempt to maintain some semblance of control. You refused to start begging, not yet. You searched yourself for whatever fragments of resolve you had left, clinging to them like the sheets on the mattress.

He slid a third finger into you before launching into a full on assault on your sex, flicking and sucking on your clit and sending you reeling into a state somewhere between consciousness and the euphoric afterlife he was surely about to send you to.

You could feel your self spiraling, your voice breaking and rising higher and higher until you were practically screaming his name as the tension in your core built up into a tightly coiled spring. You were teetering, just about to fall over the edge, when you felt his fingers leave you empty. His tongue suddenly stopped dancing across your sex.

You whined, confused at the sudden halt in pleasure you were receiving. You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at him like he’d gone completely insane.

“Oh-!,”

Eskel pounced on you, kissing you hard and forcing his tongue inside your mouth. You moaned, tasting the tang yourself on his lips and his hot, sweet breath in your mouth. He pushed you back down beneath him, and you felt the head of his cock, ready for a second round, pressing eagerly at your slick entrance.

“Tell me what you want,” he growled, nipping at your ear. His hot breath on your neck making goosebumps break out across your chest.

“I want you to fuck me,” You whimpered, body trembling with overwhelming need. “I want you to fuck me into this goddamn mattress,”

Eskel grinned, and with one thrust of his hips, buried himself to the hilt inside you.

You opened your mouth as if to scream, but you had suddenly forgotten how to breathe. The air was stolen from your lungs in a rush at the sudden fullness you felt. Your mouth hung open, giving Eskel the opportunity to bite your lower lip, groaning at the feeling of your sex gripping his cock for dear life.

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed, body completely still, just enjoying the feeling of being inside you, “You’re so goddamn tight, (Y/N).”<

You tried to retort with some witty response, but only a feeble squeak was able to make it past your lips.

Eskel started the pace slowly, pumping in and out of you at a torturously languid rhythm that made you squirm. He built the momentum up slowly, reaching down with one hand to play with your clit.

You quaked beneath his touch, rocking your hips with his to find out just how much he could fill you. The sound of your hips colliding echoed in the room in sharp contrast to your frantic moans and Eskel’s labored breathing.

He pressed his forehead against yours, reaching down with his other hand to press down gently on your abdomen, just a few inches below your belly button. The sudden pressure letting his cock hit something deep inside you that made you see stars. That combined with the constant stimulation from his thumb circling your clit sent you reeling towards orgasm at a blinding speed.

“Please - oh gods Eskel, please don’t stop,” you begged, wrapping your legs around his hips to keep him inside you, “Fuck! I’m so close- I’m-“

“Look at me when you cum,” he said huskily, lifting his head to look at you. “I want to see just how much you need me.”

You did as he said, looking into his eyes and panting with every thrust he made. Shockwaves of pleasure shot up from your core, dizzying you, torturing you. You reached up to run your hands over his chest, feeling the puckered layers of scar tissue beneath your fingers, trying to fight through the mania long enough to commit every inch of his body to memory. You didn’t want this to end.

You rode the edge as long as you could, letting him see the unbridled ecstasy you felt at his hands. The orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave. You cried out, back arching, eyes rolling back as stars exploded into supernova behind your lids.

Your abdomen contracted, the walls of your cunt tightened and spasmed around his cock as you rode the high of your climax. You kept your legs hooked around his hips, but they were a trembling mess, barely able to hold themselves up. His name fell from your lips over and over in an incoherent plea for him to use you.

Eskel moaned when your cunt contracted around his shaft. He watched you writhe beneath him, slowly coming down from the heaven he’d sent you to, and kissed your lips again- aggressive and hungrily, before rutting into you again at breakneck speed.

He’d been riding the edge of his own orgasm for what felt like ages, but watching you positively shatter beneath him sent him over the edge. He gasped, pressing his face into your neck as he came, cock twitching as he spilled himself into you again. Even after your orgasm had passed, it was like your cunt was milking him, draining him of his load.

He relaxed, collapsing down on top of you and kissing your neck tenderly. You lifted a trembling hand to run your fingers through his hair. You didn’t trust your voice yet to speak.

The two of you lay like that for what could have been an eternity. Listening to the sounds of each other breathing, giving each other gentle kisses and soft touches as you came down from nirvana.

“Still think I’ll be horrified in the morning?” You asked quietly, turning your head to place a kiss on his temple. He turned to look at you, giving you a soft smile, boyish and genuine.

“No,” he admitted, “but I can’t figure out for the life of me why.” He ran his fingers across your cheeks to play affectionately with the lobe of your ear.

“Well, aside from being a sex god,” you began, earning a chuckle from him, “you’re probably the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Whatever retort Eskel was about to give you was cut off by the door to his quarters flying open and hitting the wall with a loud ‘BANG’. He whipped his head around, leaning on one arm to turn himself towards the source of the sound. “ESKEL??” Lambert shouted, stumbling into the room with a bottle in hand, “Don’t worry buddy, Daddy Vesemir is gonna find yo-“

Lambert cut off his sentence around the time Geralt stumbled in. His eyes widened at the sight of the two of you.

“Daddy Vesemir is gonna..” he trailed off. “Leave the room and… vomit. Posthaste.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, grabbing his friend by the collar and steering him out of the room. He shut the door behind them, but not before Lambert turned to give the two of you a another proverb of sage advice.

“Remember kids, syphilis is a Witcher’s worst enemy!”

You snickered, grinning over at Eskel as the door closed. You wondered if he was going to curse or run after Lambert, still stark naked, and wring his neck.

To your surprise, he turned back to grin at you, joining in on your laughter. It made him look years younger than he already did.

“Wanna stay the night?” He asked, leaning down to pepper your face in kisses.

“Gladly.”

#eskel x reader #Eskel x you #reader insert #tw3 eskel #eskel imagine #eskel witcher #the witcher fanfiction

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just-another-fanfic · 2 years

Text

Eskel x Reader - S2E2 Fix-it

Of course my first post has to be a fix-it fic on S2E2 because Netflix did our boy dirty. Please let me know what you think, and my inbox is always open if you want to make a request!

The dining hall of Kaer Morhen was atypically lively; filled to the brim with pints of ale, bowls of stew, and the animated storytelling of over a dozen Witchers coming home for the winter to rest and train.

You yourself had only just returned that day after an absence of nearly six years. You didn’t expect to come back this year either, until you ran into Geralt a ways outside of Tretogor with his child surprise in tow. Concerned and, admittedly more than a bit curious, you decided to accompany the pair on their journey home to the School of the Wolf.

Upon entering the fortress grounds, you left Ciri and Geralt alone by the stables to talk. The snow crunched beneath your boots as you ascended the short staircase to the great hall of the keep. You looked around the courtyard, taking in the familiar scene, memories of your younger self running around on top of the stone bannisters and chasing Lambert with a pointy stick.

Was Lambert still alive?

The large double doors into the keep were worn and cracked in places from time. A weathered stone bench sat just to the right of the doorway. You and Eskel had sat there the last time you were here, talking about everything in the world, and somehow nothing at all.

Was Eskel still alive?

Your stomach lurched uncomfortably and you grimaced, pushing the unpleasant thought from your mind. You were here now. This was meant to be a happy time. A time to embrace old friends, swap stories, and take turns cooking meals for the hoard of hungry monster killers that sought refuge in the fortress during the long winter nights.

You wouldn’t think about who might not be there - not before you’d even opened the damn door.

You could hear the muffled chatter through the thick wood, smell the stew currently bubbling above the fire pit. There would be ale and mead and White Gull, and such a fellowship that you had come to miss very dearly.

You just had to open the door.

It took more effort than you remembered, and you guessed the hinges needed to be oiled. A mental note to do just that etched itself into your mind as the warmth of the hall spilled out into the frozen air. With it came voices, suddenly so clear and sharp and laughing. You saw Lambert before anyone else, hunched over the table with some unseen drink undoubtedly clutched in his fist, enthralling his brothers with a lively retelling of some contract or another.

It must have been funny, they all laughed.

You held your breath as you crossed the threshold, not willing to look at the other tables. You didn’t want to see who was absent. You weren’t ready to mourn those that hadn’t survived another year. Lambert was here. That was all you’d let yourself think about.

The chatter died down when the door swung shut behind you. Faces turned towards you as you walked stiffly into the room, eyes locked on the far table where Lambert sat. He turned too, and upon seeing you, let out an enthusiastic roar.

“(Y/N)!” He shouted, swinging his legs around to leap from the table and cross the room in a sprint, catching you in his arms and pulling you into a crushing embrace, “You made it, kid! How long’s it been? Four years? Five?”

“Six!” You wheezed, attempting to return the hug with your arms pinned against his trunk. You ignored the nickname, though you'd usually point out that the two of you were roughly the same age.

“All the more time we have to make up for!” He laughed, releasing you from the hug and pulling you instead into a chokehold and ruffling your hair, “Bet you’re still shit at Gwent!”

“Bet you’re still shit at everything else!” You argued, weaseling your way out of his grip and leaping onto his back. The other witchers in the keep laughed at the display and raised their cups to you, drinking to your safe return.

You were home at last.

Lambert led you to the table he occupied before you entered. Coen's yellow eyes crinkled as he grinned from ear to ear, standing up and giving you a similar rib-cracking hug as Lambert. You wrinkled your nose at the scratchy feel of his beard against your forehead. But still, you didn’t let him go.

Coen was alive.

The next several minutes seemed to pass by in a blur of hugs and shared pints with your fellow wolves. Some were significantly more scarred than they had been the last time you’d seen them. Others you hadn’t met at all before this. They must have only recently started returning.

Whether you knew them or not, they all shared a similar jubilance at the sight of another Witcher still breathing. There were such pitiful few of you left.

Where was Eskel?

The sinking feeling returned in your stomach as you were ushered into a chair. A wooden bowl of stew and a freshly baked roll were thrust in front of your nose. Just an hour ago you were so ravenous that you would have inhaled it all in seconds, but now you could hardly coax yourself to touch it.

“Eskel’s gonna be thrilled to see you,” Lambert said as if reading your mind, “He got all worried when you didn’t show up again last year. Where’ve you been?”

It took a moment for your head to stop spinning long enough fo answer Lambert’s question.

Eskel was here. Eskel was here, and he was alive and he was worried about you?

Your relationship with Eskel had always been.. somewhat complicated - to you, at least. Perhaps to him it was simple. You two got along famously. You trained together, ate together, and read books in the library whilst otherwise ignoring each other for hours, together. He would grouse about shitty contracts from the road on the way in, and you would listen intently each and every time.

Or at least, you did when you were here. Which you hadn’t been, not for a long while.

You should have felt ashamed for not keeping in touch with him, with all of them. But right then, after hearing he was all right, all you could feel was such intense relief you almost burst into tears.

“Eskel’s here?” You asked, voice nearly breaking. You swallowed the lump in your throat and looked at Lambert, eyes wide, “Where is he?”

“Went out to deal with a leshy earlier this morning. Should be back any minute now,” Lambert explained, his smile turning notably more smug, “You two finally gonna shag this year?”

Oh, yes, there was also that. You’d been smitten with him since before you even finished your training. As a young kid, you were always excited to see him come in for the winter and tell you all about his exciting adventures on The Path. At the time you told yourself it was an innocent crush, more admiration than anything else.

Much to your dismay, the yearning for him only grew as the decades went by.

You were suddenly starving.

Lambert fished for details about the last half a decade of your life between bitefulls of stew, ceasing the interrogation only when the doors opened again to reveal Geralt and the small, skinny frame of Cirilla. She stood behind the taller build of her caretaker, peaking out from behind him.

The roar that greeted the White Wolf was deafening.

You watched fondly as he hugged each of the other witchers in turn, smiling broadly as they clapped each other on the back. A small group of them stood round him where he knelt, clasping Ciri firmly in front of him by the shoulders and introducing her to each of them by name. Several of the men seemed entirely unsure what to think of the unexpected guest, though they smiled and shook her hand all the same.

Some, namely Lambert, simply had to make a teasing remark to the ashen haired girl, though his crinkled eyes and calm demeanor said it was all in good fun.

You sopped up the remainder of the broth with the last bite of dinner roll and stuffed it into your mouth with enthusiasm. You had only just washed it down with a healthy amount of ale when the double doors opened again, and an oddly shaped figure started limping inside.

The room went quiet, and you immediately realized why.

The strange ‘figure’ was not just one shape, but two. A large, hulking man with his arm thrown around the other, leaning heavily on him as they stumbled towards one of the empty tables.

“Eskel?” Geralt called, walking away from the other men and towards the two that limped inward.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

Locks of his long, dark brown hair were plastered to his face by sweat, and the deep scars that carved their way through his right cheek were pulled taught by a pained grimace. Eskel all but collapsed into the chair, panting hard and already working to remove the tunic that had previously been stark-white. It clung to him in places covered with dark red blotches, littered with holes and torn down the middle in his frantic attempt to remove it.

You didn’t remember standing, or leaping over the table, or commanding your trembling legs to run across the hall. It was all a blur of numb movement until you reached him.

Eskel was slumped back against the table. He twitched his nose and hissed when he pulled a splinter the size of your pinky finger out of his left pectoral. A trickle of blood started to drip down his chest, it’s descent slowed by the dense amount of hair the man had accrued there.

You squeezed your way through the others that clustered around him and knelt down by his knees. Your eyes quickly took in the sight of him - his exhausted stare, flushed cheeks, his heart hammering to push the much needed adrenaline through his veins. Something very clearly was not right. He was wounded, badly.

He blinked around at the men around him, smiling vaguely in an attempt to dismiss their worried looks. Then, his eyes fell on you.

The pupils surrounded by liquid gold irises contracted into thin vertical slits before blowing wide, as if he were trying to determine whether or not you were some trick of the light. His expression was blank, lips slightly parted, eyes widening imperceptibly. He let out a shaky breath.

“(Y/N)?”

His voice was devoid of the booming enthusiasm displayed by Lambert. It was hoarse, timid, disbelieving. His brow furrowed as he looked you over, reaching down to touch your hands that rested on his knees. His fingers twitched back when he realized you were really there.

“Where.. where have you been?” a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He flicked his head to wipe it on his shoulder and suddenly went rigid, face contorting into agony. He let out a strangled groan, and his face suddenly became very gray. His scars stretched with the expression, jagged red marks contrasting heavily with the pallor complexion.

“Get him up,” you said numbly, standing to your feet and looking around at the others expectantly, “Come on! Get him up!”

The others scrambled, Coen and Lambert heaved the barrel-like Witcher up onto his feet and, ignoring the pained cries and vehement swearing that came from him, dragged him after you down the hall. You took a left at the end of the passage and down a short flight of stairs into one of the small alchemy labs, sighing in relief when you saw that all the usual supplies were still there.

The other three were seconds behind, followed closely by Vesemir and Geralt. Lambert and Coen set Eskel down on cot and, after determining the more serious wound was on his back, wrestled the struggling man down into a prone position.

"Couldn't give me five minutes to sit down?" Eskel asked bitingly, though his irate tone was lessened when he winced upon lifting himself up, "I was going to - agh, fuck! - to get it out myself -,"

"Oh, shut up," Lambert rolled his eyes and pushed Eskel back down onto his stomach with a lazy gesture, "You're built like a fucking gorilla, when was the last time you could even reach your back?"

“Haven't gotten rusty on us, have you?” Vesemir asked you, his deep voice was unusually quiet.

“Don’t make me laugh,” you muttered, “I’ll be fine - he’ll be fine.”

“Of course he will,” Vesemir agreed, bushy gray eyebrows furrowing s he fixed you with a hard look, “What do you need from us?”

You were already rummaging through the shelves and splashed a liberal amount of grain alcohol on your palms. You turned to look at Eskel, then at Vesemir.

“I need more alcohol, some forceps, sutures, bandages -,”

“What don’t you need?” Lambert growled.

“Right now? Your bullshit!” You snarled back, glaring at him, “Get me some fucking bandages, Lambert!”

The taller man glared at you, but did as you said. He was nervous for his friend, you knew, but the sarcasm wasn't helping your nerves. Geralt had already darted out of the room, returning seconds later with more alcohol, a thin spool of silk thread, and a curved needle.

You took the bottle and dashed over to where Coen was trying desperately to hold Eskel down. He was slick with perspiration and blood, and the gaping wound above his right shoulder was haunting. The flesh around the puncture wound had darkened with necrosis - concerning, especially given that it was only hours old at the most - and the flesh around the blackened ring was dark red and radiating heat. Something solid was sticking out of the center, plunged deep into the tissue.

“Eskel?” You kneeled down to look at his face, “I’m going to fix you up, okay? This is going to sting, though, so try not to throw Coen while I do it.”

Eskel was terribly pale, and his skin had developed a sickly green hue. Still, he nodded and set his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut in preparation.

“Can you three hold him?”

“We got him,” Geralt grunted, “Do it.”

With Vesemir straddling the cot above Eskel’s calves to hold them down, and Coen and Geralt holding down his abdomen, you grabbed the forceps and pushed them slowly into the puncture wound.

“Okay, on the count of three...”

Eskel grunted in acknowledgment.

“One-!”

You located the foreign object, dislodged it with a sharp pull, and doused the wound in grain alcohol in two swift movements. Eskel screamed, writhing beneath the men in fruitless attempts to escape the pain. You felt a horrible pang of guilt rise up in you at the sound.

Vesemir was ready at hand with a small metal bowl for you to discard the strange, gnarled piece of wood that had embedded itself into Eskel’s shoulder. You didn’t give it a second glance.

“I’m sorry Eskel, I’m so sorry,” you repeated frantically over and over. Lambert returned instantaneously with the bandages and a small vial of Swallow, which he force-fed Eskel between sharp breaths and poorly restrained groans.

You started stitching him up once the potion took effect. His body was already regenerating, thanks to the potion. The blackened flesh began to regain a healthier color, slowly turning back to red. You dabbed at the skin gently with one of the bandages to get rid of any excess blood and debris. You wanted the stitches to be clean.

The sweat started to dry on his skin. His breathing slowly started to calm, and yours did along with it.

“Almost done,” you murmured, leaning over him as you sewed the wound back together, “the worst part is over, this is nothing.”

“Sure doesn’t feel like nothing,” he grumbled through clenched teeth. He sucked in a hiss through his teeth when you pulled the thread through his skin.

Geralt and Vesemir chuckled in response. You smiled wryly.

A few minutes and fifteen neat stitches later, Eskel was entirely bandaged up, and Vesemir was off to another lab to figure out exactly what this strange species of Leshen was.

Eskel had since forced his way up into a sitting position, still looking very uncomfortable, but much better than he did when you first saw him. The green hue was gone from his completion, and the color was beginning to come back to his cheeks.

Unsure of what else to do, you sat down next to him on the cot without a word. He didn't even look at you. He stared broodingly at a crack in the stone floor by his feet.

Coen and Geralt, who sensed the tension in the air, decidedly pulled Lambert from the room. They were both muttering something about being hungry, and unceremoniously closed the door behind them.

The room went quiet. The lanterns that illuminated the stone walls flickered, casting dancing shadows on the floor. Their reflections glittered like eyes against the rows of bottles that lined the shelves. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, then looked down at your hands clasped together in your lap.

“Eskel -,”

“Why didn’t you come?” His voice was hard, no longer strained by the searing pain in his shoulder, “Six years, (Y/N)! You didn’t write, you didn’t come visit, we were all scared that you were dead!”

You bit your lip, wincing at the scorn in his voice, “I’m sorry, Eskel, I-,”

“I understand not showing up every year, but gods, (Y/N), this long? You couldn’t even tell me that you were doing all right? That you were still fucking alive?!” His voice didn’t raise above a stern speaking-level, but he might as well have been shouting at you, “I was worried sick!”

All of your pent up nerves from the day seemed to boil over.

“Yeah? Well I worried, too!” You exploded in sudden irritation, standing up and whirling around to glare at him, “It’s the whole reason I didn’t come back! After years of coming home every winter and hearing about those of us that didn’t make it back - I just-,”

“Just what? Figured you’d ignore it all together?” He growled, raising a dark eyebrow, “Just avoid the heartache everyone else has to deal with?”

“I thought I’d avoid finding your medallion on that fucking tree!” you shouted, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “Because then, in my mind at least, you’d still be alive! You’d still be somewhere roaming around the continent taking on contracts. If I came back and saw your medallion here without you attached to it, I’d just.. I’d..”

Eskel didn’t say a word. He merely stared at you with his brows raised. Tears swam in your vision, and you blinked angrily to clear them away.

“Why the hell do you keep coming back?” You asked with a huff, "What the hell makes all of this worth it?"

Eskel wrinkled his nose and scrunched his brows together, seeming to struggle with his response to your question.

“... The chance that you’ll come back.” he murmured.

That was it. After everything else that had happened in such a short period of time, it was those words that broke you.

The tears were blinding, choking you as you were suddenly wracked through with sobs. You heard the creaking shift of Eskel’s weight on his cot, and then his arms were around you. He held you tight against his chest, rubbing soothing circles into your back. You felt his face pressed into your hair, whispering calming words that didn’t reach your ears.

“I’m so sorry, Eskel,” you said thickly, words cut off by hiccups, “I never meant to make you worry, I just - I didn’t-,”

“I know,” his voice was hoarse again, “I know you didn’t. You don’t need to apologize.”

“I missed you.”

His big arms tightened around you. You felt his chin rest on the crown of your head.

“I missed you, too,” he said earnestly, “D'you have any idea how much it sucked being here some winters, with no one but Lambert to keep me company?”

You gave an exaggerated shudder, both of you sniggered.

“You had Vesemir,” you pointed out, reluctantly sitting up straight to look at him. His arms fell away from you, “That’s gotta count for something.”

Eskel let out a short laugh, “Let me rephrase; D'you know how many times I had to fix the roof with Lambert, while Vesemir barked orders from a bench?”

At that, you really laughed. Eskel gave you a wide grin, lopsided from the scar pulling at his upper lip.

You adored that smile of his.

“You don’t need to worry this time,” you assured him, wrapping your arms gently around his middle, “I’m here now, and I’m all yours.”

#eskel x reader #eskel imagine #reader insert #the witcher #eskel deserves better #shame on you netflix #fix it fanfiction #Eskel x you #fluff and feels

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