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Part 2 of The Puppy and the Wolf
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2022-05-31
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2022-09-18
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Puppies and Playdates

Summary:

‘Our little pup went down for the first time today.’ Eskel says fondly, adding a good spoonful of honey to the pot and giving it a stir. Jaskier stops pulling away from Geralt to look at Eskel, confused.

Down?

He doesn’t know what that means.

Geralt’s hand drops from Jaskier’s cheek and he turns to look at Eskel. ‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah. You should have seen him, Wolf. He was perfect, playing with his toys.’

Oh, right. That.

 

 

Jaskier adjusts to his life as a kidnap victim.

Notes:

And baby Jaskier is back!

 
Please heed the warnings! This is fucked up, but also very fluffy. You have been warned.
Mild homophobic slur in the first chapter.

And to all the lovely people that left comments on the last work and encouraged me out of my bubble, I love and appreciate you all. If you haven't already, I recommend reading The Witcher's Pup first, so this instalment makes sense.

As always, enjoy!

Chapter 1: Down We Go

Chapter Text

Suckling on his pacifier, Jaskier moves Mr Wolfe around on the play-mat, brow furrowed in attention.

 

The stuffed wolf toy is in charge of keeping the soldiers in line, and it is a very serious job that Mr Wolfe is doing very well. Currently in the middle of ‘tummy time’ with Eskel, Jaskier is helping as Mr Wolfe rounds up the painted, wooden blocks that are scattered across the rug in front of the fireplace in the hall. The soft, grey wolf has become Jaskier’s favourite toy, and he doesn’t go anywhere in the keep without Mr Wolfe.

 

Jaskier’s never really had toys before. The feeling of having something soft and cuddly that is undeniably his, is- well, it’s good.

 

Once upon a time, when he was very small, Jaskier owned a small, stuffed bunny rabbit. His name was Pogo, and he had big, brown button eyes and soft, pink, floppy ears. Jaskier carried Pogo everywhere. Pogo was his friend, and helped Jaskier to sleep, even when the house was very loud. Pogo listened when he was scared, and kept away the monsters in the dark.

 

When Jaskier was five, his father threw Pogo onto the fire.

 

With a sudden need to be closer, Jaskier pulls Mr Wolfe in for a cuddle. He uses his fingers to brush the fur out of Mr Wolfe’s eyes so that he can see properly. Nostrils flaring, Eskel glances up from where he’s sitting beside Jaskier on the enormous fur rug, setting aside the blue diaper bag decorated the yellow ducks to study him carefully.

 

Jaskier still isn’t quite sure how, but all the men in the keep seem to be able to smell his happiness or distress.

 

‘What happened pup?’ Eskel asks, moving himself closer to Jaskier and scenting him again. Jaskier’s lip trembles, and he hangs onto Mr Wolfe with both hands, eyeing Eskel cautiously.

 

‘You’re okay little one, I’m not going to take him.’ Eskel says softly.

 

Jaskier tightens his grip on Mr Wolfe, but true to his word, Eskel makes no move to take him away. Humming softly, Eskel begins to run calloused fingers up and down Jaskier’s bare back, along his spine. The touch tickles, and Jaskier giggles, relaxing his hold on Mr Wolfe, just a little.

 

Good boy, Jaskier.’ Eskel says, and Jaskier preens quietly at the praise. Geralt and Eskel praise him all the time, and he still can’t get enough of it.

 

He isn’t sure how to feel about that.

 

‘Can Papa check your diaper?’ Without waiting for an answer, Eskel lowers his hand and pulls the hem of the fitted diaper that’s wrapped snuggly around his hips, exposing Jaskier’s bottom. He feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment, even though he knows he’s dry.

 

Jaskier grumbles and tries to roll away, but Eskel holds him easily.

 

With the snow battering against the walls and the wind rattling the windows, the chill of the air against his bare bottom makes Jaskier shiver. The fire is kept burning at all times, as far as Jaskier can tell, but the hall is large and hard to heat. The ceilings are high, and the stone walls don’t help at all to keep in the warmth. The enormous grey and white fur rug where Jaskier is put down for ‘tummy time’ helps to keep him warm, and he likes the way it feels against his skin.

 

‘Still dry? That’s okay baby, Papa will help you later.’ Eskel says, releasing the diaper and giving Jaskier a fond pat on the bottom. Jaskier whines and shakes his head, but Eskel just smiles reassuringly. Reaching for the diaper bag again, Eskel pulls out a bright orange onesie with a long, fluffy fox tail.

 

Jaskier perks up considerably at the sight of it. He likes the bright colours; the fox onesie is his favourite. It’s soft and warm, and the tail is kind of fun to play with. Geralt seems to prefer Jaskier in the wolf outfit, but Jaskier finds the grey much too plain for his tastes. Geralt should try colours sometime, Jaskier thinks, his entire wardrobe is a collection of items in varying shades of black.

 

As stunning as his, uh, kidnapper is in black, Jaskier would love to see a bit of variety- though he hasn’t been able to say as much, considering the pacifier strapped to his mouth. He’s torn. While he hates that the men don’t let him speak, there are upsides to being a prisoner, which is ridiculous, he knows. There’s something to be said about the routine that the wolves have for him; he’s kept warm, fed and cuddled every single day. And he has his own toys, which is rather nice.

 

The world spins, and Jaskier giggles as he is rolled onto his back, Eskel tickling his bare tummy.

 

Such a good boy for Papa.’ Eskel rumbles in his ear. Jaskier shivers again, the praise twisting deliciously hot in his belly. Eskel’s dark hair falls over the scarred side of his face, and he wraps one hand securely around Jaskier’s waist, keeping him still. Jaskier squirms as the handsome man pins him to the mat, his thumb idly stroking the soft skin of Jaskier’s belly as Eskel picks up the onesie with his other hand.

 

Ignoring Jaskier’s frustrated wiggling, Eskel chuckles and holds him still.

 

‘Alright pup, let’s get you dressed, then it’s a bottle before bed.’

 

Jaskier whines as Eskel stops stroking his belly. The larger man easily wrestles him into the fox outfit.

 

Frustrated, and feeling rather hot under the collar, Jaskier remains still as Eskel dresses him. While Eskel is certainly more gentle than Geralt, Jaskier now knows that everything he does in front of Eskel is guaranteed to be relayed to Geralt. Eskel hums as he fastens the buttons on the outfit and secures the fox-paw mitts to Jaskier’s hands. He misses his fingers when they’re hidden away, but it isn’t worth the fight.

 

Yesterday, having had quite enough of being a prisoner, Jaskier kicked at Eskel while being dressed. Forgoing the onesie and leaving him in nothing but a diaper, Eskel lifted Jaskier off the rug easily, carrying him to the corner where he was told very sternly that he was in ‘time out’.

 

Jaskier snorted his disbelief, but, to his dismay, Eskel was serious. Every time he got up, Eskel just put him back in the corner. This continued until he stayed in the corner, which, due to his stubbornness, had taken the better part of an afternoon. It was infuriating. The worst part was, when Geralt got home, Eskel told him all about their afternoon. So, on top of the time out, he also got a smack.

 

He thought this was rather unfair.

 

‘There we go pup, all nice and warm.’ Eskel says, finishing with the mittens and pulling Jaskier into a sitting position on the rug. As he’s pulled upright, he feels a familiar pressure in his bladder, and he squirms uncomfortably. Pulling the hood up and over Jaskier’s head, Eskel tucks his mop of auburn hair into it gently, hiding the straps of the pacifier. The red and white ears of his hood flop forward as Jaskier looks down at his gloved hands, pouting at the loss of his dexterity. Huffing a laugh, Eskel nuzzles at his ear and presses a kiss to his cheek.

 

‘God, you look so damn adorable.’

 

Jaskier can’t help but blush a little at the words, his cheeks growing hot. Eskel tucks his enormous hands under Jaskier’s arms, and he’s lifted off the ground. Clutching Mr Wolfe to his chest, he hangs on tight as Eskel shifts Jaskier onto his hip. Eskel is warm, and smells like wood-smoke, just like Geralt, but with a hint of pine. Breathing deeply, Jaskier forgets all about the gloves as Eskel starts to pat his bottom, carrying him across the hall. He’s getting used to being manhandled.

 

He doesn’t mind as much as he should.

 

The kitchen smells like spices. The fire is burning brightly here too, and the room is cosy. Around the kitchen table are four sturdy looking chairs; one for each of the wolves, and a highchair, for Jaskier. Several tall, wooden shelves line one of the stone walls, reaching to the ceiling. There is a small pot filled with soil under the window by the sink, growing parsley, mint and thyme. The thyme is wilting. The worn, wooden table in the centre of the room takes up most of the space, a basket of eggs in the centre.

 

While Jaskier hasn’t seen the chickens, since he’s not allowed outside, he can hear them clucking sometimes, and the rooster crowing. Roosters were supposed to crow in the morning, but Jaskier thinks this one must be stupid, because it crows at random times during the night, and all throughout the day. According to Eskel, the rooster likes to chase Geralt around the yard. Vesemir promised to take Jaskier out into the garden when he gets back from the town, and Jaskier can’t wait.

 

He really wants to see Geralt be chased by a rooster.

 

Vesemir keeps a good collection of preserves lining the shelves, and Jaskier is fascinated by trying to read some of the labels as Eskel takes Mr Wolfe from him. Mr Wolfe is set down on the table so that he can watch Jaskier eat, and Eskel straps Jaskier into the highchair. As always, when Eskel moves away Jaskier tests the give on the straps, wriggling in the chair. His bottom is still a little sore from his time out, and after a minute, he stops struggling and turns to watch what Eskel is doing. Eskel has just set a little pot of milk on the stove to warm when Geralt slouches into the kitchen, covered in snow and looking rather ragged.

 

Glancing up, Eskel raises an eyebrow.

 

‘Lambert again?’ He asks, and Jaskier stops fidgeting with the straps of the chair to listen. It’s been several days since Jaskier’s seen Lambert, and he isn’t quite sure why.

 

The last thing Jaskier remembers is being placed beside Lambert on the rug for cuddles, the younger man smelling of dirt and leather. Jaskier woke to the sound of Lambert swearing, Geralt pulling him away by the scruff of the neck. Confused and upset at being woken so suddenly, it had taken Eskel over an hour to resettle Jaskier into his bassinet upstairs in the bedroom, stroking through his hair until Jaskier fell back to sleep. Jaskier hasn’t spent any time with Lambert since, and Eskel seems rather determined to keep them apart.

 

Sighing, Geralt nods.

 

‘He’s been in a foul mood since Vesemir left.’ Geralt says, shaking the snow off his shoulders and pulling off his large overcoat, hanging it off the back of a chair by the fire. His face softens when he looks at Jaskier, the golden-yellow eyes glittering in the firelight.

 

‘And how’s my baby doing today?’ Geralt asks, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s head, pausing to sniff his neck before sighing, pulling out a chair and sitting heavily. The chair scrapes on the stone floor as Geralt pulls it closer to where Jaskier is sitting in his highchair. Fingertips brush his cheek, and Jaskier leans away, grumbling as Geralt strokes along the side of his face.

 

This close, Jaskier can see the tiredness in his face.

 

‘Our little pup went down for the first time today.’ Eskel says fondly, adding a good spoonful of honey to the pot and giving it a stir. Jaskier stops pulling away from Geralt to look at Eskel, confused.

 

Down? He doesn’t know what that means.

 

Geralt’s hand drops from Jaskier’s cheek and he turns to look at Eskel. ‘Oh yeah?’

 

‘Yeah. You should have seen him, Wolf. He was perfect, playing with his toys.’

 

Oh, right. That.

 

Jaskier grumbles unhappily from behind the pacifier. He shies away even as Geralt sits a little straighter, amber eyes lighting up. The chair squeaks as Geralt leans forward, a large hand ruffling at Jaskier’s hair, making the fox ears on his onesie flop around.

 

Good boy Jaskier, you make Daddy so proud.’

 

Jaskier preens for a moment, before remembering where he is and grumbling again.

 

Snorting in amusement, Geralt pats him fondly on the leg before getting up. Moving around the table and across the kitchen, Geralt wraps his arms around Eskel’s waist. Rumbling his happiness, Eskel leans back so Geralt can nuzzle into the side of his neck. Geralt rumbles back, kitchen fills with the sound of purring. Pausing only to sniff at the pot warming on the stove, Geralt smiles and presses another kiss to Eskel’s shoulder.

 

‘I like it when he smells like you.’

 

Jaskier wants to kick him.

 

He tries, when Geralt comes back to the table. The larger man just catches his leg, pressing one thumb into the soft flesh of his thigh hard enough to bruise. It’s a warning, and Jaskier falls still. As Geralt moves away, Jaskier looks desperately to Eskel. To his dismay, Eskel is too busy preparing Jaskier’s bottle, and hasn’t noticed Geralt silently threatening him.

 

The crackle of the fire and the gentle bumping of the stirring spoon against the side of the pot is interrupted by a deep sigh, and Jaskier looks up to Geralt to see him leaning heavily on the back of a chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

 

Seeing the tension in Geralt’s shoulders has Jaskier feeling a little smug, and he kicks his legs happily.

 

Sighing again, Geralt glances up at Eskel, his mouth moving like he wants to say something. He pauses, lowering his head and going back to his brooding for several more minutes. Jaskier thinks he looks constipated, but apparently he’s just considering what to say, as when he raises his head again and finally speaks, his voice is hesitant.

 

‘Lambert wants-’

 

‘I know what he wants.’ Eskel snaps. Jaskier flinches at the sudden harshness of his tone. ‘He’s not getting it.’

 

Jaskier isn’t sure what they’re talking about, but the mood in the room sours immediately. Looking cautiously from one caretaker to another, Jaskier watches them closely. With a low growl, seemingly undeterred by Eskel’s harshness, Geralt tries again.

 

‘Esk-’

 

‘No.’ Eskel says, his voice a measured calm as he takes the pot off the stove, testing the temperature with his finger before pouring it into the bottle. He attaches the teat and gives the liquid a good shake, turning to face Geralt, who’s still leaning heavily on the chair beside Jaskier.

 

‘He’s a baby, Geralt. He still needs help to use his diaper. He’s not ready-’

 

‘He won’t even know.’ Geralt says coldly.

 

Jaskier whimpers at the sharpness of his tone, leaning subconsciously away from Geralt and looking to Mr Wolfe for reassurance. He doesn’t know what they are talking about, and it scares him. It sounds like a topic they have discussed already, though Jaskier isn’t sure when, seeing as he’s been attached to Eskel all week.

 

Although, he does love a good nap by the fire after his afternoon bottle. He really needs to stop doing that.

 

No.’ Eskel says, the growl in his voice dangerous. Jaskier feels his lip trembling. ‘And if I catch him again-’

 

‘He slept through it last time.’ Geralt snaps, slamming a fist down onto the table. The loud bang causes Jaskier to jump in fright. ‘Lambert doesn’t understand, he needs-’

 

The men continue to snap at each other, but Jaskier isn’t listening anymore. There’s a ringing in his ears, and he can’t catch his breath. He doesn’t like yelling.

 

His father yelled.

 

The night Jaskier finally decided to run away his father yelled and yelled. Failure, a fairy, useless, worthless- His parents believed that masculinity could be beaten into a small boy, one belt whip at a time, and Lettenhove was large; large enough that Jaskier’s screams of pain went unheard by the staff.

 

Or maybe they were heard, but nobody helped him.

 

That’s what his mother did, after-all. She ignored his cries of pain, pushed him away when he wanted comfort. She didn't love him. No one loved him. 

 

Curling in on himself, Jaskier starts to cry.

Chapter 2: Papa’s Got You

Notes:

A little Jaskier and Eskel time.

I wasn't going to put out a chapter again so soon, but I needed the softness in my life. Jaskier wanted to be a brat about it.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Fuck.’

 

At Geralt’s approach Jaskier trembles violently.

 

Please don’t hit me.

 

‘Get away Geralt, you’re scaring him.’

 

Glaring at Geralt, Eskel sets the bottle down on the table with a thump and moves to Jaskier, pushing Geralt aside. Making soothing noises, Eskel nuzzles Jaskier as he unbuckles the straps on the chair. Despite Eskel’s warmth, and the tenderness of his touch, Jaskier continues to tremble, his ears still ringing. His body feels tight, the tension in his shoulders taut like a bow string as his breath comes in short pants.

 

As Eskel lifts him out of the chair, he flinches.

 

Eskel doesn’t hit him.

 

He cradles Jaskier gently, continuing to make soothing noises. Holding Jaskier to his chest, Eskel rocks gently, rubbing small circles over Jaskier’s back. It's comforting, and Jaskier burrows into Eskel’s shirt, crying and clinging to the fabric.

 

‘Shh baby, Papa’s got you. Take a deep breath for me Jaskier, I’ve got you. You’re safe.’

 

It's difficult, but Jaskier finally manages to suck in a wet, shuddering breath, wiping tears and snot all over Eskel’s chest. The shirt smells like fabric softener and musk.

 

‘Good boy, there we go. Papa’s got you.’ Eskel says softly. ‘Here you go, you hold onto Mr Wolfe.’

 

Jaskier feels the softness of the toy against his cheek and reaches out, instinctively.

 

It helps.

 

‘That’s it. Good boy, Jaskier. You’re safe.’

 

Jaskier cuddles Mr Wolfe against his chest, taking another unsteady breath. Eskel continues to rock, rubbing his back and patting his bottom, and with Mr Wolfe’s help, soon Jaskier’s sobs quieten. Geralt hovers by the sink, brooding and looking unsure of what to do.

 

‘Go check on Lambert, Geralt. I’ve got Jaskier.’

 

Looking like a scolded puppy, Geralt scowls, but doesn’t argue. Grabbing his winter coat from the back of the chair, he storms out of the kitchen, leaving Eskel alone with Jaskier.

 

‘You don’t like yelling, do you?’ Eskel asks softly, once Geralt is gone.

 

Jaskier sniffles. He shakes his head, holding Mr Wolfe close.

 

‘Papa and Daddy are sorry, we didn’t know. We won’t yell anymore pup, Papa promises.’

 

A tiny bit of tension leaks out of him as Eskel continues to rock, swaying Jaskier slowly as he holds him close, nuzzling against him and patting his bottom.

 

‘Papa’s got you.’

 

Sitting himself down in Geralt’s vacated chair, Eskel manouvers Jaskier onto his lap, his back resting against Eskel's chest. Jaskier hiccups as the strap for the pacifier is undone and pulled away. He doesn’t scream.

 

The teat of the bottle is pressed against his lips.

 

Even though he knows what’s in the milk, he’s desperate for comfort and begins to suckle. The milk is tepid, the honey helping to mask the texture. Eskel strokes his cheek, wiping away the last of the tears as Jaskier settles in his lap, still holding his toy as he nurses on the bottle. With each mouthful, Jaskier nestles further into Eskel’s hold, the quiet suckling and the crackle of the fire the only sounds in the kitchen.

 

When Jaskier closes his eyes, finally relaxing his shoulders, Eskel purrs his pleasure.

 

Good boy, Jaskier.’ Eskel breathes into his ear, holding the bottle up so that Jaskier can finish it.

 

The praise settles low in his belly, and he snuggles further back into the embrace, feeling protected and safe. When the bottle is lifted away, Jaskier blinks open sleepy eyes to look up at Eskel. The empty bottle is set down on the table, and Jaskier is lifted to Eskel’s shoulder, firm pats landing between his shoulder blades.

 

The milk has made him feel heavy and warm. It isn’t food, but he hasn’t felt the pangs of hunger since he arrived. So that’s kinda nice.

 

There’s still a bitter aftertaste, and he tries very hard not to think about it.

 

After being burped, Jaskier closes his eyes again. He’s feeling much better, if not a little tired. Feeling almost like he’s floating, Jaskier’s thoughts are slow and his limbs are heavy as Eskel stands, bringing Jaskier with him.

 

Nestled on Eskel’s hip, Jaskier is carried up to the bedroom. If it weren’t for the unpleasant pressure in his bladder, he’d probably be sleeping on Eskel’s shoulder already. Still clinging to Mr Wolfe, Jaskier blinks at the boarded up window in the hall as they pass, the remnants of his great escape now tucked away behind several layers of solid wood and nails.

 

Gently pattering against the window in the bedroom, snow dapples the light filtering through the glass. The sun is starting to set, the sky a vivid mix of pinks and purples over the mountains. It seems Geralt has been through to light the fire, the crackling flames illuminating the enourmous fourposter bed, piled high with blankets. Eskel flicks on a small bedside lamp, the soft glow of light making the bedroom feel comfortable.

 

‘Here we go baby.’

 

Mr Wolfe is taken from Jaskier’s grip, and placed on the dresser beside a stack of books. Jaskier tries very hard not to cry again when Eskel puts him down on the change table. He knows what comes next, and he isn’t happy about it at all.

 

Trying to focus on anything other than the firm thumb pressing against his bladder, Jaskier stares at Mr Wolfe, trying to memorize his grey and white face.

 

Eskel moves his thumb slightly lower and Jaskier bucks his hips in discomfort, whining loudly.

 

‘There it is, just relax pup.’ Eskel says, smiling gently as he presses unerringly over Jaskier’s swollen bladder again.

 

Jerking violently, Jaskier feels very much awake again. He squirms and wriggles, feeling tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as Eskel’s thumb continues to press firmly into his stomach. Using his other hand, Eskel holds onto Jaskier's hip, keeping him still. With a particularly brutal stroke, Jaskier releases.

 

Good boy, Jaskier. Such a good boy for Papa.’

 

The praise mixes distressingly with the wetness between his legs, and Jaskier feels humiliated and confused. As Eskel tugs Jaskier out of his onesie and lifts his hips to remove the wet diaper, he stares pointedly out the small window, refusing to look at his captor.

 

‘We’ll use the wipes today.’ Eskel says, and Jaskier hears the rustle of the packaging. ‘You’ve had a big day and I don’t want to overwhelm you, but Papa really wants to start cleaning you properly, before you get a rash.’

 

Jaskier lets out a sob. He wants a real bath.

 

He used to shower at the beach, back when he was homeless. The water was always cold, and the shutoff timer of the beach shower made it very hard to get any proper washing done anyway. The gym was better, when he managed to sneak in behind a paying member. They had hot water and clean towels there, it was heaven. Once Jaskier even found some soap that had been left behind. That was a good day.

 

As the cold wipe touches the skin at his hip, Jaskier shivers and looks down. Eskel handles him carefully. Jaskier kicks his legs involuntarily when his hips are lifted, the wipe passed between his cheeks. When the cold wipe is pressed firmly against his rim, Jaskier turns his face away, unable to stand the shame as his cock takes an interest in the proceedings.

 

Catching sight of Mr Wolfe on the dresser Jaskier looks away again, embarrassed. With a rumbling purr, Eskel sets Jaskier’s bottom back down on the table, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

 

‘You’re doing so well baby. Papa just needs to put on some cream and we’ll get you all dressed for bed, okay? You’ve had a very stressful afternoon, haven’t you? Papa is so sorry little one. Panic attacks are no fun.’

 

Jaskier sniffles in agreement.

 

Opening the dresser, Eskel returns with a small pot of salve that Jaskier hasn’t seen before. Stroking the side of Jaskier’s face and wiping away some of the tears, Eskel lifts Jaskier’s hips again, opening the tin with one hand. The smell of the salve makes Jaskier wrinkle his nose.

 

‘It’s a special cream Daddy made for you.’ Eskel explains, scooping some of the ointment from the tin. ‘Daddy can be scary, but he really does love you.’

 

Jaskier grumbles. The balm tingles.

 

Holding him by the legs, Eskel continues to spread the salve over his genitals. Jaskier squirms, sucking in a breath when Eskel strokes one finger over his opening, pressing inside just a little. Eskel works slowly and methodically, and his hands are so very warm. He handles Jaskier’s cock, lathing the cold cream from root to tip, massaging him gently.

 

When Jaskier is finally wrangled into a fresh diaper and a clean onesie- a soft blue decorated with little paw-prints- he’s painfully hard.

 

He doesn’t want Eskel to keep touching him, but he also really really does.

 

Letting out a frustrated whine, Jaskier tries to touch. It’s been almost a week since he’s had any relief, before Geralt brought him to Kaer Morhen, at any rate. Every day they touch him, and then offer him nothing. Today was torture, Eskel’s touch so firm but so gentle, and Jaskier needs. As Jaskier rubs at himself with the pawed mittens of his onesie, bucking his hips into the feeling, Eskel catches his hands.

 

Squealing in annoyance, Jaskier pouts, and Eskel makes a noise of sympathy.

 

‘I know baby, I know. How about we have some cuddles in the big bed? Papa will read you a story, how does that sound?’ Not waiting for an answer, Eskel takes both of his wrists in one hand, reaching over to the dresser. ‘Hang on to Mr Wolfe!’

 

Squeaking his irritation, Jaskier cuddles Mr Wolfe to his chest as he is lifted from the change table and placed carefully amongst the goose-feather pillows on the oversized bed. The mattress is soft, much softer than he imagined, and Jaskier rolls himself over onto his belly as Eskel kicks off his shoes. It’s a treat to be on the bed, though Jaskier’s focus is on other things.

 

Eskel chooses a story book from the small collection on the dresser, leaving Jaskier to explore the bed. The quilt is soft from use, a patchwork red faded from years of hanging in the sun to dry. Crawling up the mattress, bouncing on his knees slightly in excitement at his newfound freedom, Jaskier reaches forward and grabs his prize.

 

He shoves a pillow between his legs, and starts to thrust his hips.

 

‘No baby, we don’t hump the pillows.’

 

Jaskier whines as the pillow is taken away.

 

The mattress dips as Eskel crawls onto the bed, and with an undignified grunt Jaskier is rolled onto his back again. Settling himself amongst the pillows, story book in hand, Eskel lifts Jaskier to snuggle against his chest. Holding Jaskier’s wrists easily, because he’s still trying to touch, Eskel balances the story book in his other hand. Jaskier grumbles in defeat as Eskel wraps strong thighs around his hips, holding him completely still.

 

To Jaskier’s annoyance, Eskel uses his nose to turn the pages, rather than letting Jaskier have his hands back.

 

By the time the very hungry caterpillar has eaten his way through three plums, four strawberries, and five oranges, Jaskier has settled somewhat. The warmth of the embrace and the soothing rumble of Eskel’s voice have left him feeling calm, and he’s no longer throbbing with need. Snuggling further into Eskel’s broad chest, Jaskier focuses on the pictures as Eskel reads him the story.

 

The combination of warm milk, Eskel's rumbling voice and a full belly has Jaskier feeling rather sleepy. Once the caterpillar has eaten through a piece of chocolate cake, an ice-cream cone and a pickle, he can't stifle his yawning.

 

Story finished, Eskel tucks the book aside before carrying Jaskier over to the bassinet. Placed down on his back with Mr Wolfe snuggled beside him, Jaskier watches quietly as Eskel presses a button on the mobile, the moon and stars starting to dance around Jaskier’s head. A soft melody fills the room. Eskel presses a kiss to his head, and then uses his thumb to rub small circles gently between Jaskier's eyes until they close. 

 

He knows he isn’t supposed to, that he shouldn’t. But he likes Eskel.

 

Eskel isn’t mean, not like Geralt.

 

Snuggling Mr Wolfe and listening to the lulling music of the mobile, Jaskier succumbs to a particularly wide yawn. His jaw clicks with the movement, and he realises belatedly that he hasn’t had his pacifier in since they left the kitchen.

 

Smiling to himself, Jaskier falls asleep thinking of all the things he's going to say to Geralt in the morning.

Notes:

Thanks for all the love and support, it takes all my energy to wrangle Jaskier. Little brat.

Chapter 3: Jaskier's First Bath

Notes:

Sorry it took so long, I made you a longer chapter to make up for it. Bit of sick fic and a bath for our favourite baby!

To anyone out there who's struggling and needs a little support, this one's for you.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jaskier wakes to the sound of grunting, an unpleasant itching between his legs and the pacifier back in his mouth.

 

God fucking damn it all.

 

He can’t have been asleep for more than a few hours. Slightly disoriented and more than a little disgruntled he wasted his opportunity to tell Geralt that his white hair and yellow eyes make him look like an ugly snow-owl, Jaskier grumbles. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he blinks slowly. The bedroom is still dark, condensation building on the windows as the fire burns low in the hearth, glowing coals casting low, flickering shadows across the floor. Through the bars of the bassinet, Jaskier can see movement coming from the fourposter bed and hear the mattress creaking.

 

Another low grunt, followed by a loud moan cuts through the quiet of the room.

 

Wait.

 

Shh, you’ll wake him,’

 

Jaskier squawks around his pacifier to let them know he is very much awake.

 

Fuck. God damn it.’

 

Even in the cool air of the room, Jaskier can see the sweat glistening on Geralt’s solid form as he clambers off of Eskel, searching over the floor for his trousers. Rolling onto his side, Jaskier props himself up on his elbows, letting out a pained whine at the tenderness beneath his diaper. Peering through the wooden bars he catches sight of Geralt’s pale backside, glinting in the moonlight. Toned, shapely and bulging with muscles, just like the rest of him. Geralt has a very lovely bottom.

 

Jaskier, stop staring at your kidnapper.

 

Hoisting up his trousers, Geralt turns to catch Jaskier staring. Jaskier quickly looks away, feeling his cheeks burning. Leaving the button of his jeans undone, a thatch of white hair visible above the considerable bulge tenting the front, Geralt approaches the side of the bassinet, still glistening with sweat and smelling of sex.

 

Oh lord have mercy.

 

‘He’s awake.’ Geralt says, and Jaskier can hear Eskel sigh from the bed. Jaskier grumbles from behind his pacifier as Geralt leans over the side of the bassinet. ‘Sorry we woke you pup. Papa and Daddy were just, uh, playing.’

 

Snorting his disbelief, Jaskier feels through the semi-darkness, searching for Mr Wolfe. He finds him wedged between the mattress and the bars of the bassinet. Huffing as he pulls the toy free, Jaskier holds up Mr Wolfe, to indicate what playing means.

 

Through the darkness, Geralt’s eyes seem to glow. He chuckles, the rumbling sound deep and genuine as he reaches towards Mr Wolfe.

 

Shuffling backwards on his knees, Jaskier pulls him back quickly, shaking his head.

 

Mine.

 

Geralt sighs, some of the light disappearing from his eyes as he lets his hand drop. There’s the sound of fabric rustling, and Eskel appears besides Geralt, bare chested and wearing soft sleep pants. The scent of sex and musk grows stronger, and Jaskier chokes on his own saliva. He flops back down onto his bottom, yipping when it hurts. He pouts, still holding Mr Wolfe away from Geralt.

 

Geralt looks upset, and Jaskier bounces a little on his bottom in victory, even though it stings.

 

‘He hates me.’ Geralt says, his head hanging.

 

Jaskier nods, glad that they are in agreement.

 

‘No he doesn’t.’ Eskel says, wrapping a hand around Geralt’s waist, broad fingers coming to rest on his hip.

 

Annoyed that Eskel doesn’t understand that, yes, he does, Jaskier stops bouncing. The painful itch in his diaper is distracting. He whines.

 

Ignoring his complaint, Eskel nuzzles behind Geralt’s ear. With a soft, sad sigh, Geralt leans into the touch, nuzzling back. Brushing aside a strand of white hair, Eskel says quietly, ‘I think you could use some more bonding time, I know I’ve been kind of possessive.’

 

‘You have.’ Geralt agrees, still nuzzling into Eskel’s hand.

 

‘I suppose a little help won’t go astray. He is a handful.’ Eskel says, finally pulling back. Geralt chuckles as Jaskier lets out a noise of indignation.

 

He is not.

 

Eskel smiles. ‘Come here, pup.’

 

Kicking his legs as Eskel lifts him into the air, Jaskier settles on his hip. When Eskel tucks one large hand under Jaskier’s bottom, he wriggles and squeals in discomfort. Eskel frowns, and his nostrils flare as he scents the air.

 

‘What’s wrong baby?’

 

Geralt follows them, looking concerned, as Eskel lays Jaskier down on the rumpled covers on the bed, still smelling like sex and musk. Jaskier grumbles unhappily as Eskel narrowly avoids placing him in a large wet spot on the blankets.

 

‘Sorry baby.’ Eskel chuckles, shifting Jaskier a little to the left before fumbling with the buttons on Jaskier’s paw-print onesie. Shucking Jaskier out of his clothes, Eskel lays him back down on the bed.

 

Shivering in the cold air, Jaskier snuggles back into the soft mattress. Geralt disappears to throw more wood on the bedroom fire, the light in the room growing brighter as the flames flicker to life. Running warm hands over Jaskier’s belly, Eskel presses and pokes, watching Jaskier for a reaction.

 

He’s searching for where it hurts.

 

Whining, Jaskier reaches for his diaper, intent on scratching.

 

Eskel bats Jaskier’s hands away, but understands. Fidgeting as Eskel tugs at the velcro of the diaper, Jaskier tries to focus on anything other than the itching. Geralt appears beside the bed again. As the diaper is tugged away, the cold air hits Jaskier’s genitals, and Geralt frowns.

 

‘Oh fuck.’ He says, and Jaskier panics, just a little.

 

Looking down to see what’s itching, he shrieks. The skin under his diaper is red and patchy. Everywhere Eskel applied the salve, he’s broken out in a rash. Catching both of his hands, Eskel stops him from scratching. Jaskier bucks his hips and whinges as Eskel gently grips his cock, lifting it to look at his red, irritated balls.

 

‘Wolf, what was in that cream? I think he’s allergic.’

 

‘Mint, chamomile and mistletoe, beeswax as a binding agent.’ Geralt says as Eskel lets his cock go. Leaning down, Geralt runs a thumb over Jaskier’s itchy skin with a small hum. When he pulls away too, Jaskier chases his hand, whining and desperately seeking relief from the itching, hands still held tight by Eskel. If he had the use of his mouth, he’d tell them that yes, he is allergic to mistletoe.

 

As it stands, all he can do is squeal. So he does.

 

‘Poor pup, that looks awful.’ Eskel says, pulling a wipe out of the packet left on the dresser and wiping the remaining ointment from Jaskier’s pinked skin. The coolness of the wipe is relieving, and Jaskier sighs, allowing Eskel to wipe him down. Throwing aside the used wipe, Eskel steps back and the itching returns with a vengeance. Whining, Jaskier wriggles his hips, searching for relief.

 

Eskel watches him, frowning. ‘He needs a bath.’

 

Jaskier stops rubbing his bottom on the bedspread to listen. He likes baths.

 

‘I can take him down to the springs?’ Geralt offers, and Eskel considers for a moment before nodding.

 

Springs? Jaskier shivers again in the cool air.

 

‘Alright. But be gentle with him, Geralt, he’s a baby. Be nice. I know you like discipline, which, I completely blame Vesemir for, by the way, but don’t punish him for every little thing. I’ll wake Lambert, see if we can’t make a salve to help with the rash. He always was the best with alchemy.’

 

Jaskier lets out a shriek when he’s picked up, still naked, and lifted to Geralt’s bare chest.

 

He kicks his legs as Geralt’s hand presses into his bottom, the rash prickly and hot. Ignoring his wriggling, Geralt settles Jaskier against his torso, head tucked into the hollow of Geralt’s neck, hips wrapped around Geralt’s middle. The skin to skin contact feels better than he wants to admit, and Jaskier stops fighting.

 

Now clinging to Geralt like a limpet, Jaskier curses his weak human disposition.

 

As Jaskier settles against him, Geralt seems thrilled, if the rumbling purr is anything to go by. Still purring, Geralt pulls the patchwork blanket off the bed and wraps it tightly around Jaskier, allowing him to stay skin to skin, but keeping the chill of the air off his back.

 

Eskel gives Jaskier a kiss on the head. ‘I love you baby.’

 

The words do something to Jaskier, and he chases Eskel’s hand as he pulls away, wanting more. The words sink into his heart, and Jaskier holds onto the feeling of being loved. They’ve told him before, but every time he hears it, it’s like the first time. Reaching out from beneath the blanket, Jaskier tries to catch Eskel and pull him back. He wants more kisses and love.

 

Eskel chuckles and shakes his head. ‘No pup, you need a bath, and I’m going to talk to Uncle Lambert. Be good for Daddy, and you can have all the kisses when you get back.’

 

Grumbling, Jaskier stops reaching and cuddles closer to Geralt.

 

Moving through the hall, Geralt brings Jaskier to a narrow staircase. Descending down so many stairs that Jaskier is left feeling slightly dizzy, Geralt carries him into what looks like a cave. The weathered stone walls curve overhead, stalactites jutting out from the earth as the steady drip drip drip of water echoes through the cavern. Moonlight and swirling snow filters through a large gap in the stone wall, bathing the area in a soft light, but the room isn’t cold, it’s humid and warm.

 

Skating over the sheer beauty of the natural underground mountain spring, Jaskier’s focus zeros in the centre of the room, where swirling steam is rising off a heated pool nestled amongst the stalagmites.

 

It’s a hot bath.

 

Unable to contain his excitement, Jaskier squeals. He wiggles against Geralt, fully aware that his naked skin is rubbing all over Geralt, but not able to care, because there is a hot bath right there, and he’s not in it yet. Geralt chuckles and holds him tightly.

 

‘Alright, hang on pup.’

 

Geralt collects a clean cloth, a rubber duck and a bar of soap from a small shelf built into the rock wall of the cave, setting them down within reach on the edge of the spring. Holding Jaskier firmly, Geralt kneels on the stone edge of the pool, and gently lowers Jaskier into the water. There’s the slight tang of sulphur emanating from the water.

 

When the water touches the rash, Jaskier yelps. It stings.

 

‘Easy pup, there we go. It’s just the minerals in the water, they’ll help with the rash.’ Geralt soothes, petting Jaskier’s hair and sitting him down on a smooth outcrop in the pool, holding him still with one hand around his middle. The water rises just above his navel, leaving his legs to dangle in the deeper water. Once the stinging fades, Jaskier stops squirming and relaxes into the hot water.

 

It’s even better than he imagined, warm and bubbly.

 

He hasn’t had a bath in as long as he can remember, and it’s bliss, (even if he’s technically being bathed by his kidnapper). Jaskier chirrups his happiness, purposefully splashing Geralt as his captor settles on his knees beside the pool, still holding Jaskier still.

 

Behave, pup.’

 

Trilling, Jaskier splashes him again.

 

‘Last warning, do it again and you’ll get a smack.’ Geralt growls, reaching for the cloth. He dips it into the water, before wiping it over Jaskier’s back. The feeling of the cloth against his skin is nice, but he giggles and squirms when Geralt runs the fabric under his arms, scrubbing him gently.

 

‘Lift your arms for me pup, there we go.’

 

It tickles, and Jaskier squeals and flails, a huge splash of water cascading over the side of the tub, soaking Geralt’s jeans. The sight of Geralt dripping wet, still holding the rag in one hand, has Jaskier feeling a little smug. He kicks his legs happily, giggling at the feeling of the water between his toes as more water sloshes over the side.

 

Jaskier.’

 

The low growl in his ear, hot breath on his neck has Jaskier remembering where he is, who he’s with. A shiver of fear crawls up his spine. He was so excited by the bath, he’d forgotten- Geralt is dangerous. Jaskier doesn’t fear Eskel, Eskel has never hit him, but Geralt- Jaskier still has the bruises on his backside from Geralt.

 

A stillness falls over the room, the gentle sloshing of the water against the stone and the steady drip of the stalactite as Geralt looks down at the mess Jaskier’s made, his expression dark.

 

Sitting naked in the warm water, Jaskier feels very vulnerable.

 

The hot breath touches the skin on the back of Jaskier’s neck again and he shivers, despite the warmth. Geralt’s fingers around his middle dig into the soft skin of his belly, just a little, and Jaskier tenses. Pulling him back to sit properly on the stone outcrop of the pool, Geralt presses a soft kiss to the side of his neck. Which, well, it isn’t what Jaskier expected. At all.

 

‘You’re okay pup, you’re allowed to play in the bath, sorry if Daddy scared you.’

 

Jaskier narrows his eyes, suspicious. Maybe Geralt had decided to listen to Eskel. That would be nice. Jaskier still doesn’t trust him.

 

Seeming to notice this distrust, Geralt tickles his belly, eliciting a squeal and a fresh wave of giggles. ‘If you’re a good boy, Daddy will let you play with the bath toy, how does that sound?’

 

Jaskier is a little ashamed at just how fast he nods. Geralt chuckles and hands him the rubber duck.

 

The bright yellow duck floats delightfully in the water, bobbing along with the little waves Jaskier makes by splashing, and the feeling of the washcloth against his back doesn’t distract Jaskier from his game. He’s so busy helping Sir Ducksworth ride the waves that he doesn’t notice when Geralt finishes washing his back, his hand snaking beneath the water. Jaskier absolutely does notice when Geralt runs the cloth over his backside, the friction against the rash causing Jaskier to jump and wriggle away. Geralt holds him tight.

 

Jaskier scowls, to let Geralt know that he’s not impressed.

 

‘I know pup, be a good boy and stay still, Daddy needs to get all the salve off.’

 

It does itch, so Jaskier tries to be a good boy, but when Geralt sets the cloth aside, only to press a finger inside him, Jaskier yelps and sends a fresh wave of bath water sloshing over the floor.

 

‘All done pup. You can play for ten more minutes. Papa and Uncle Lambert should have the medicine ready by then.’

 

Eyes still narrowed at Geralt, Jaskier fiddles with Sir Ducksworth. When he’s certain Geralt isn’t going to violate him again, he returns to his game.

 

Now that Geralt is finished with the cloth, Jaskier steals it for Sir Ducksworth. The cloth becomes a dolphin, diving in and out of the water as Sir Ducksworth supervises. Jaskier is so engrossed in his game that he doesn’t notice Geralt leave his side. When Geralt hoists him out of the water, wrapping a soft, fluffy towel around him, he whines. Clinging to Sir Ducksworth, Jaskier kicks and fusses, trying to get back into the spring. He doesn’t want to get out, even though his fingers and toes are a little wrinkly.

 

Jaskier squeals unhappily when Sir Ducksworth is wrestled out of his hands and put back on the shelf.

 

‘Your duck has to stay here, but I’ll let Papa know how much you enjoyed your bath.’

 

Sniffling, Jaskier pulls Geralt’s hair, just because he can. Catching his hand, Geralt tucks both of his arms securely into the towel, stopping him from grabbing at Geralt’s hair again.

 

Behave, Jaskier. I know you’re tired. It’s time for your medicine, and then bed, it’s much too later for little boys to be awake.’

 

He’s not tired.

 

As Geralt pats him down with the towel, squeezing the excess water out of his hair Jaskier catches a peak of the dark sliver of sky visible through the stone wall of the spring. It must be nearing midnight by now, but he hasn’t exactly got a watch to check. He finally accepts that the bath is over when Geralt carries him to the stairwell, and with a little huff, he snuggles into the soft fabric of his towel cocoon.

 

He’s clean and warm, and his rash is feeling a lot better now that the salve has been washed away, though his bottom is still a little irritated. Tucking Jaskier into his chest, Geralt ascends the stairs back to the keep. Snuggling further into Geralt’s warmth, Jaskier yawns.

 

He's still not tired.

Notes:

Your comments fuel my writing, and I appreciate you all!

 

Not beta read, but it probably should be.🤣

Chapter 4: The Alpha Puppy

Notes:

Chapter warning: some *sexual* content.
Skip from *The salve is cold - to - ‘Shh baby, I’m sorry. Papa’s all done now.’ if this isn't for you.

(Poor Jaskier is feeling just a little frustrated).

Everything else is relatively fluffy. Except for the angst. Whoops.

A little more of Lambert, at last.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

To Jaskier’s surprise, both Lambert and Eskel are waiting for him in the bedroom.

 

Curled together on the bed, Lambert is snuggled into Eskel’s chest. The light of the fire casts a warm glow over the room as the sound of purring fills the air. Lambert’s wearing nothing but soft trousers, just like Eskel, and his hair is skewed, still damp from where Eskel has been grooming him. Lambert’s eyes are closed, his features sleepy as he nuzzles happily into Eskel.

 

‘Working hard then,’ Geralt chuckles, the vibrations of his voice rumbling through where Jaskier’s pressed against him. Lambert’s yellow eyes snap open and the purring stops abruptly.

 

‘Finished.’ He grunts, tossing the small tin of salve across the bed.

 

Geralt catches it in one hand, Jaskier grumbling as he’s jostled. Shuffling backwards, Lambert nestles against Eskel again and looks up at him expectantly. Eskel chuckles and wraps his hands around Lambert’s middle, tugging him closer. The sound of purring starts again.

 

‘Leave the salve to me, Geralt. There’s some oil in the dresser though, for his skin. I just need to finish up here.’ Eskel says, pulling Lambert back so that he can continue to groom him. ‘Our little alpha needed a bit of bonding time too.’

 

‘M not little.’ Lambert bristles, but he snuggles back into Eskel’s embrace.

 

‘You are to us, pup.’ Geralt says, unwrapping Jaskier from his cocoon and shifting him to his hip, hanging the wet towel by the fire. Jaskier mewls in happiness at the skin to skin contact.

 

Pulling himself away from Eskel, Lambert snarls at Geralt, eyes narrowed. He takes one look at Jaskier, who’s still curled in the crook of Geralt’s arm and scoffs.

 

‘Parent of the year over here. I can still see the fucking bruises on him, Geralt.’

 

Despite the snapping, being tucked against Geralt’s bare chest again has Jaskier very much in the floaty headspace. His limbs are heavy, and every point of contact between him and Geralt feels wonderful. He ignores the conversation around him as he snuffles into the crook of Geralt’s neck, sighing happily.

 

‘Easy, Lamb.’ Eskel says softly, as Geralt growls.

 

Setting Jaskier down on the change table, Jaskier whines. He was really enjoying being held, and the loss of skin contact has made him sad. Geralt ignores him, turning to face Lambert.

 

‘You’ve been a prickly bastard for two days, and I’ve had enough. After what you did to Jaskier, you’re lucky Eskel’s even let you in the fucking bedroom. Now settle down.’ Geralt keeps his voice level, never raising it.

 

Jaskier watches cautiously from his back as Lambert opens his mouth to argue, but Eskel nips at the side of his neck, causing him to yip.

 

‘Not another word, pup, we don’t yell in front of Jaskier. Try it and I’ll drag you out by your ear.’ Eskel warns, and Lambert bristles, his cheeks flushing. Brushing back a strand of Lambert’s hair, Eskel speaks more softly. ‘Sit back, I’d like to finish cleaning you.’

 

Glaring across the room at Geralt for a moment longer, Lambert yields. Bowing his head, he nestles back against Eskel, though he still looks a little salty. Eskel hums, and resumes lathing over Lambert’s shoulders and back. The soft sound of purring resumes.

 

Still in his floaty headspace, Jaskier trills as Geralt turns back to him, running one hand across his belly. It feels nice, and he kicks his legs happily. His rash is looking better, and the bath seems to have helped. It certainly feels better, though it’s still a little red and irritated. Keeping Jaskier still on the change table with one hand on his hip, Geralt digs through the drawer of the dresser with his other hand. Mr Wolfe is still sitting on the dresser, besides the story books, and Jaskier gurgles happily at him.

 

Finding the small tin of mint, chamomile and mistletoe salve, Geralt promptly throws in the bin.

 

‘He loved his bath, Esk. He went down again.’ Geralt says happily, and Eskel stops grooming Lambert to look up.

 

‘That’s wonderful, wolf. He’s perfect, isn’t he.’ Eskel hums.

 

It isn’t a question. They really do think he’s perfect.

 

Something inside Jaskier sings.

 

Gurgling happily around the pacifier, Jaskier turns away from Mr Wolfe to watch as Geralt pulls out the wolf onesie and the little bottle of oil from the dresser. Setting them aside, Geralt nuzzles into Jaskier’s neck, pressing a kiss behind his ear. Jaskier continues to suckle on his pacifier, feeling safe and content as Geralt kisses him again. Uncorking the bottle of oil, the soft scent of lavender fills the room. Warming the oil between his hands, Geralt starts with Jaskier’s toes, rubbing and massaging the oil into his skin. Jaskier melts.

 

‘Does that feel good baby?’

 

Jaskier nods, grabbing at Geralt’s hands to make him keep going.

 

Chuckling, Geralt returns to massaging the oil into Jaskier’s skin. He moves up his legs, down his arms and over his hands. He avoids the rash. When Geralt rubs over his chest, Jaskier feels like jelly. In a sleepy haze, he looks over to Eskel.

 

Humming softly, a rumbling sound of contentment, Eskel continues licking and sucking soft marks into Lambert’s skin. There’s something about watching two half naked, fully grown men press against each other, while getting the best massage of his life, and soon Jaskier is wriggling on the table, a heat filling his belly. Jaskier pouts when Geralt moves away, wiping his hands on a wet-wipe.

 

‘All done. It’s time for bed now baby, I can see how tired you are.’

 

Jaskier tries to grumble. He yawns instead, the lavender oil, the bath and the massage have made him really quite sleepy. If it wasn’t for the show happening on the bed, he’d probably have fallen asleep on the change table.

 

Lambert whispers something to Eskel, speaking so quietly that Jaskier can’t hear what he says. Eskel pauses to listen, before chuckling softly.

 

‘Yes pup, you may. But then straight to bed. Do you want Geralt to stay with you, or would you prefer to be on your own?’

 

This time Jaskier does here the quiet mumble from Lambert.

 

‘Geralt.’

 

‘Manners, Lambert.’ Eskel chides.

 

‘Fuck you.’ Lambert snaps, and Eskel nips him again. Lambert scowls, a dark mark blossoms on his skin from Eskel’s bite. Bowing his head, Lambert mumbles.

 

‘Can Geralt please stay with me, my room is too cold.’

 

‘I can, Lamb.’ Geralt says gently, ‘We’ll stay in Vesemir’s room tonight, would you like that?’

 

Lambert’s eyes light up and he nods.

 

Geralt gives a small smile, and gestures to Lambert. ‘Come here, pup. Say goodnight to Jaskier.’

 

Scrambling off the bed, Lambert crosses the room quickly, and Jaskier watches warily as he approaches. He still isn’t sure what Lambert did to him while he was sleeping, but with Eskel and Geralt there to protect him, Jaskier isn’t scared, just a little apprehensive.

 

He’s not prepared for the feeling of Lambert’s rough tongue against his skin, and he wriggles as Lambert licks a small stripe under his ear. Geralt holds his hip, keeping him still as Lambert snuffles against his skin, hot breath and wet tongue causing goosebumps to erupt across his skin. Pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s neck and breathing deeply, Lambert sighs against his skin. As Lambert inhales again, the sigh becomes a soft sob.

 

‘I miss him so much.’ Lambert whispers, still keeping his face buried in Jaskier’s scent.

 

Lambert’s voice cracks, and Jaskier feels his heart break.

 

‘I know, pup. I know.’ Geralt wraps his arm around Lambert, gently lifting him off Jaskier.

 

Lambert allows himself to be moved and sobs again, the sound full of despair. He cries into Geralt’s chest for only a moment, before pulling away. Leaning heavily on the dresser, Lambert wipes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. Pushing himself off the dresser, he turns on his heel and flees the room.

 

‘Go after him, Geralt. I’ve got Jaskier.’ Eskel says, climbing off the bed and moving to Jaskier’s side.

 

Sighing, Geralt presses a kiss to Jaskier’s head, ‘Thank you for being such a good boy for Uncle Lambert. Goodnight baby, Daddy loves you.’

 

And then Geralt is gone too.

 

Jaskier yawns, rubbing his eye with the back of a fisted hand as Eskel approaches the change table. Outside, in the darkness, the rooster crows. Stupid rooster. Jaskier yawns again.

 

‘I know you’re tired baby, Papa’s just going to put the salve on, then you can get some sleep.’

 

The salve is cold, but the soothing effect is instant, and Jaskier sags against the change table as Eskel lathes the cream over his rash. He’s so tired he doesn’t even flinch when Eskel lifts his cock, using this thumb to rub the salve gently into his slit before moving on to his balls. Eskel is thorough, spreading a thick layer of cream over the rash. Jaskier whinges when Eskel presses a thumb inside him, his leg kicking. Eskel catches him around the knee, forcing it towards Jaskier’s chest, holding him still.

 

‘I know pup, nearly done. I need to make sure I’ve covered all of your rash.’

 

Eskel takes another scoop of the salve on the tip of his finger, and presses into Jaskier again, crooking his finger and rubbing it around Jaskier’s rim to ensure all of the rash is covered. Moving a little deeper, Eskel presses up and-.

 

Oh fuck.

 

Electric sparks shoot through Jaskier’s belly, sending tingles to the very tips of his fingers and toes. He keens, waking up again with a jolt. Bucking his hips for more, he whines when Eskel pulls out gently. He wants more.

 

‘Shh baby, I’m sorry. Papa’s all done now.’

 

Nononono.

 

Sobbing hysterically as Eskel dresses him in a clean diaper, Jaskier fights as the straps are fastened around his hips, hiding his half-hard cock from view. He scratches and claws at Eskel, who catches his hands with ease. Not slowed at all by Jaskier’s struggling, Eskel grabs the onesie and begins to wrangle Jaskier into it.

 

As Jaskier’s hands are secured in the mittens he pouts, sagging in defeat and exhaustion.

 

‘Your fox is in the wash baby,’ Eskel says. Jaskier scowls at him. He’s not upset about the onesie.

 

Whining again, Jaskier shuffles uncomfortably, and Eskel pets his tummy to soothe him. Calloused hands graze over soft skin, and Jaskier can’t stop the giggle as fingers trail down his side. Smiling, Eskel leans down and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s belly. His beard stubble tickles, and Jaskier giggles again. To his disappointment, Eskel pulls away, fastening the buttons up Jaskier’s middle.

 

Jaskier pouts.

 

‘Papa’s so proud of you baby, you were such a good boy for Daddy today.’ Eskel says.

 

He loves it when Eskel is proud of him, even though he knows it’s wrong. It’s all wrong and he can’t get enough of it. The words distract him from his turmoil, just a little.

 

‘I’m sorry Papa missed your first bath. Next time I’ll be there, I promise.’

 

Jaskier knows that Eskel means it; he’s never broken a promise before. Eskel tucks a stray hair behind Jaskier’s ear and he nuzzles into his hand. Checking the straps on his pacifier, Eskel tugs the hood over Jaskier head, wolf ears flopping sideways.

 

‘There, all better. It’s a bit late for a story, but I don’t suppose you’ll be happy without one, will you?’

 

Jaskier glares at him. Eskel sighs.

 

‘Alright, Possum Magic or Where is the Green Sheep?’

 

Jaskier falls asleep looking for the Green Sheep.

 

Notes:

I'm loving all the feedback, and am seriously blown away by all the love and support. You guys rock.

Covid has been rough (is anyone else not sleeping anymore??), and the comments really brighten my day.

Let me know if it's too much touching. It feels like too much🤔

As always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Chapter 5: The Best Worst Morning Ever

Notes:

Little Tyke has a bad morning. Papa Eskel makes it all better.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jaskier wakes the next morning particularly grumpy. He’s already feeling small, and he doesn’t like it.

 

He bangs on the bars of the bassinet to let the world know how he feels. He’s no longer itchy, and the medicine seems to have done the trick, but he’s hungry and he needs to pee. The sunlight is streaming through the window, the last of the snow melting against the glass in the warmth. Outside, the stupid rooster is still crowing. Jaskier wants to kick him.

 

Peering through the bars of his bassinet, Jaskier spots Eskel half buried under a pile of blankets, still snoring softly. He bangs on the bars of the bassinet again. When Eskel just grumbles and rolls over in bed, Jaskier screeches. Eskel groans and throws back the covers slightly so he can look at Jaskier rattling around in the bassinet. His dark hair is tangled, and he still has the creases from the pillow etched across his face. Rubbing his eyes, Eskel groans as Jaskier screeches again.

 

‘We were up half the night with your rash baby, can’t you let Papa have a sleep in?’

 

Not getting out of bed, Eskel rolls over and pulls the blanket higher. Settling himself back into the pillows with a sigh, he closes his eyes again. After a week of constant attention, Jaskier isn’t enjoying being ignored. Banging on the side of the bassinet again, he squeals his frustration. Eskel doesn’t open his eyes.

 

Annoyed that Eskel isn’t getting up to let him out of the bassinet, Jaskier decides to take a risk and climb out himself. He’s done it before, on the night he tried to make his great escape, so he’s confident as he throws his leg over the side. Halfway out, the foot on his onesie catches on a sharp splinter in the wooden bars, and Jaskier tumbles over the side, landing headfirst on the stone floor with a thump.

 

Eyes snapping open at the sound, Eskel bolts upright. Catching sight of Jaskier on the floor, he gasps and clambers out of bed so fast he trips over a tangle of sheets. Tears in his eyes, and a sharp pain in his mouth behind his pacifier, Jaskier whimpers as the coppery taste of blood blooms across his tongue. Propping himself up on his elbows, he bawls.

 

Untangling himself from the sheets, Eskel scoops Jaskier off the floor as he continues to wail. There's a throbbing ache in his mouth. As he lets out another particularly loud howl, a rather dishevelled looking Geralt appears in the doorway, wearing an apron over his naked torso, bare feet visible beneath his sleep pants. His hair is tangled in a messy knot behind his head, and there’s some sort of pale goop on one of his arms.

 

‘What happened?’

 

Holding Jaskier’s head still so that he can get a better look, Eskel frowns.

 

‘He tried to climb out of his bassinet and landed on his face.’

 

Geralt sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb, looking less than impressed.

 

Ashamed and embarrassed, Jaskier tugs away from Eskel’s hand and tries to hide in his shirt, and a red streak smudges across the fabric. At the sight of the blood, Jaskier cries harder, the wet sounds muffled by the pacifier. It hurts, the hard plastic digging into the sensitive skin around his mouth.

 

‘Baby no, let Papa have a look.’

 

Unclipping the pacifier, Eskel pulls it away, putting it down on the dresser beside the story books. Jaskier feels something drip down his chin, warm and sticky.

 

‘Geralt, grab me a wipe, I think he split his lip but I can’t tell, there’s too much blood.’

 

Too much blood? Oh god he’s dying.

 

Opening his mouth, Jaskier clutches at Eskel’s shirt, whining. The words slip out before he can stop them-

 

‘Papa it hurts.’

 

The air seems to leave the room as Jaskier speaks. Geralt is looking from Jaskier to Eskel, disbelief spread across his face, and it takes Eskel a moment to collect himself.

 

‘Oh baby, you’re okay, Papa’s got you.’ Eskel breathes, yellow eyes lighting up. 

 

With Geralt still standing in the doorway, staring like a stunned mullet and decidedly not getting the wipes, Eskel uses his shirt to wipe Jaskier’s face. It stings, and he pulls away.

 

‘Come here baby, Papa will make it all better.’

 

Jaskier sniffles and fusses as Eskel wipes away the worst of the blood. He’s not really sure how he’s feeling. His mouth hurts, yes, but that’s nothing compared to the internal battle going on inside him. He just called Eskel Papa.

 

Oh god.

 

The existential crisis he’s currently experiencing screeches to a halt when the smell of burning fills the room. Eskel notices it too, his nostrils flaring.

 

‘Geralt, where’s Lambert?’

 

Fuck.’

 

As Geralt sprints out of the room, Eskel’s grip on Jaskier tightens, and he feels his world grow smaller. Eskel is safe. Snuggling into the bloodstained shirt, the smell of burning tickles his nose and he sniffles, still feeling a little embarrassed by the whole ordeal. Eskel kisses him gently on the head, making a soft reassuring noise.

 

‘It’s okay baby, Daddy will take care of it. Uncle Lambert’s just cooking. You’re safe, Papa’s got you.’

 

Feeling particularly small and fragile, Jaskier touches the bump on his lip gingerly and whines at Eskel. He’s feeling more than a little sorry for himself, which is making him needy. He wants another kiss. He wants Eskel to say that he loves him again. He wants softness and cuddles and-

 

What he really wants is Mr Wolfe.

 

As Eskel gets a wet wipe and starts to gently clean the split in his lip, Jaskier squirms, letting out an exaggerated whine. Straining his neck, both to get away from the wipe and to peek over Eskel’s shoulder, Jaskier searches for Mr Wolfe.

 

Peering into his bassinet, Jaskier frowns.

 

The soft blue sheet covering the mattress in the bassinet is a little crinkled, and there’s a wet spot at the head from where Jaskier drooled around his pacifier during the night, but there’s no sign of Mr Wolfe. Mr Wolfe is always there when he wakes up, even if Jaskier was too preoccupied this morning with trying to escape to say good morning to him. He’s always there. Checking again just to be sure, and slightly embarrassed at the size of the drool spot, Jaskier sniffles.

 

The bassinet is definitely empty.

 

Well, that's okay, because if Mr Wolfe didn’t make it to bed last night, he must still be waiting for Jaskier on the dresser, like a good little wolf. Wriggling in Eskel’s arms and dodging the wipe again, Jaskier looks over Eskel’s other shoulder. Raking his eyes over the dresser, he searches for his companion. Stacked neatly on the wooden dresser are Jaskier’s storybooks, the little tin of healing salve and the half a bottle of lavender oil left over from last night, but nothing more.

 

Feeling something hot and prickly twist in his stomach, Jaskier tries very hard not to panic.

 

Mr Wolfe is missing.

 

Twisting in Eskel’s arms, Jaskier checks the floor, the bed and then finally the fireplace, just in case. He wants to get down, he wants to checks the fireplace properly. Burning bile rises in the back of his throat, and his stomach twists again painfully. He can’t lose Mr Wolfe too. He can’t. Jaskier was a good boy, he was good, wasn’t he?

 

Noticing his squirming, Eskel stops trying to clean his face.

 

‘What’s wrong baby?’

 

Jaskier whines, feeling the heat of tears pooling behind his eyes. It takes him a moment to remember that he’s still free of the pacifier, and he can speak. His voice stutters, almost like he’s forgotten how to use it- or maybe he’s afraid of getting hit. But this is Eskel, not Geralt, and Eskel asked. Eskel loves him. Just like Jaskier loves Mr Wolfe.

 

Tentatively, he tries his words again.

 

‘My w-wolf? Papa, my wolf.’

 

Tossing the bloodied wet-wipe in the bin, Eskel pauses to survey the room. He checks the bassinet, the bed and the dresser. He even peers behind the dresser and ducks down to look under the bassinet. Not finding any trace of the toy, Eskel frowns.

 

‘I’m not sure where he went baby, but we’ll find him, I promise. He can’t have gone far.’

 

A promise from Eskel makes Jaskier feel a little better, but he clings to Eskel anyway. Pressing several kisses to Jaskier’s forehead, Eskel wipes away his tears with a thumb. The kisses help too, but he’s still sad. Sniffling, Jaskier wipes his nose on the back of his mitten, a trail of snot appearing. Accidentally, Jaskier bumps the large mitten against his lip. It stings, and he lets out another wet, heaving sob.

 

This is the worst morning ever.

 

‘Don’t cry pup, Papa’s got you.’ Eskel begins to pat Jaskier’s bottom. The rhythmic patting is reassuring. ‘How about Papa gets you changed, because he wants to check your rash, and then we’ll see if Daddy managed to save any of the breakfast Uncle Lambert was cooking. Would some nice warm porridge make you feel better?’

 

Something in Jaskier’s brain short circuits. Food? Real, actual food?

 

Bouncing excitedly on Eskel’s hip, he nods enthusiastically. Putting aside his thoughts about Mr Wolfe, just for a little while, Jaskier trills his happiness and nuzzles into Eskel instead. He can always panic after breakfast.

 

The words come naturally.

 

Hungry Papa.’

 

His voice is a little squeaky from disuse, and he stumbles over the letters in his excitement for food. Eskel chuckles at Jaskier’s words, nuzzling behind his ear and pressing gentle kisses to his neck. His beard tickles, and Jaskier squirms.

 

‘Papa loves you so very much, Jaskier.’

 

Oh. Yes.

 

Jaskier stops squirming to look up at Eskel, feeling a little giddy. He’s still not used to hearing those words, and he clings to them with everything he has; the feeling of warmth they bring, the way Eskel smiles when he says them, and the way it sounds.

 

Someone loves you, Jaskier.

 

Despite the praise and the thought of breakfast, Jaskier can’t help but fuss a little when Eskel lays him on the change table, especially when a thumb digs into his bladder. He’s probably never going to get used to using the diapers; the feeling of a warm, heavy weight between his legs when Eskel presses just so. He knows it would just be easier to let go, to use his diaper, then they wouldn’t have to make him, but it isn’t easy to undo a lifetime (albeit a short lifetime, but still) of training.

 

‘No Papa- nooo-’ Jaskier can’t help the little whine when Eskel finds the spot, the intense feeling making him wriggle and squirm on the table.

 

‘I know baby, it will get easier I promise. Just relax, pup. Papa’s got you.’

 

Eskel presses again, the praise heavy and hot as he strokes Jaskier firmly, holding him still on the table with one hand on his hip.

 

There you go pup, good boy Jaskier.

 

Jaskier lets out a small sob as he feels the familiar warmth spreads between his legs. The thought of breakfast helps to distract him, and he sniffs the air hopefully as Eskel starts to unbutton his sleep onesie, trying to catch a whiff of what’s cooking downstairs. He only catches the faint scent of burning, and he wrinkles his nose.

 

Stripped of his onesie and wet diaper, Jaskier glances down. His rash is looking much better, though Eskel dabs around some of the healing salve on the underside of his cock, where he’s still feeling a little tender. The touch is soothing and methodical, and Jaskier fiddles with his hands while he’s being changed, enjoying his freedom; he misses his fingers when they’re tucked away.

 

Maybe, if he’s really good without the pacifier, Eskel will let him keep the mittens off too.

 

Dusting him with talcum powder, Jaskier is changed into a clean diaper, the crinkly material wrapped snuggly around his narrow hips. When Eskel pulls out the fox onesie, freshly washed and smelling subtly of washing powder, Jaskier trills.

 

‘Fox!’

 

The scars on Eskel’s face seem to disappear as he beams at Jaskier, and Jaskier knows he’s nailed it. He’s never seen Eskel look so happy, a bright smile and a contented hum as he fusses around Jaskier on the table.

 

It makes him feel good, to know he made his Papa smile like that.

 

Eskel. Not Papa.

 

Damn it.

Notes:

Story got longer. Not sure how that happened.

Edit- It happened again. My bad. Bonus two chapters, yay?

Enjoy!

Chapter 6: Jaskier's Great Adventure

Notes:

Heavily edited for better pacing and clarity. Added much cuteness.

Vesemir returns, and Jaskier finally gets some relief, almost.

Lots of Lambert and Vesemir in this chapter. And Jaskier gets a proper meal, at long last. And a bean. He finds a bean under the table.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Dappled light filters through the small, dirty kitchen window, and the little pot of herbs on the windowsill looks much happier for the small amount of sunlight. The mint has grown larger, and is spilling over the side of the pot into the sink. The kitchen smells like burnt fabric and spices, and the fire in the hearth warms the room.

 

The porridge is only a little burnt, but Jaskier couldn’t care less.

 

Sitting on Geralt’s lap at the kitchen table, being spoon-fed real, actual food, Jaskier trills his happiness. To Geralt’s left sits Lambert, scowling into his own bowl of porridge, a smudge of ash smeared across his cheek. From the burnt lump of fabric in the sink, still smouldering slightly, it appears that Lambert managed to set a tea towel alight, and the resounding panic resulted in the bottom layer of porridge being a little over cooked.

 

Swinging his legs happily, and occasionally bumping Geralt’s shin with his heels, Jaskier leans forward, opening his mouth to accept another spoonful of porridge from Geralt. It’s creamy and delicious and Jaskier smacks his lips in appreciation, careful not to bump the small split in his bottom lip from being brutally attacked by the floor earlier.

 

There’s a tiny huff from across the table and Jaskier glances up to see Lambert looking up at him and Geralt with something akin to jealousy. He really wants to help, because even though he hasn’t known him long, he likes Lambert. Strong, dark and brooding, much like Geralt, but with a sweetness, an innocence about him that Geralt absolutely doesn’t have, stabby bastard.

 

Jaskier isn’t sure how much younger Lambert is than the others, but when Lambert flicks a spoonful of porridge at Geralt, snickering as it splats against the side of his face, Jaskier thinks he might be quite a bit.

 

Wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, Geralt’s yellow eyes glint dangerously in the flickering light of the kitchen fire. Holding his breath, Jaskier waits for the yelling to start. Trembling, he feels the tickle of Geralt’s stubble against his cheek, a gentle kiss pressed to his skin. The touch is soothing, and the tension drains from his shoulders.

 

‘You’re okay baby, Daddy’s not mad at you.’ Geralt says softly, his voice calm. ‘Lambert, do that again and I’ll have Eskel get out the cane, and he won’t go easy this time, considering you stole Jaskier’s toy. Now, eat your breakfast, Vesemir will be here soon.’

 

Grumbling, Lambert returns to eating his meal, using his fingers to scrape the last of the porridge from the bowl. Jaskier eats a lot slower, Geralt ensuring he’s completely finished the last bite before offering more, feeding him small spoonfuls so that he doesn’t tug at the split in his lip by opening his mouth too wide.

 

There was only a small amount of scoffing when Eskel carried Jaskier into the kitchen and informed Geralt that he was to have porridge for breakfast.

 

Porridge is completely safe for babies, Geralt.’

 

Fine, but I’m feeding him.’

 

To be perfectly honest, Jaskier couldn’t care less who fed him the porridge, so long as he got the porridge.

 

Opening his mouth and grunting, Jaskier bounces on Geralt’s knee in his impatience for another mouthful. Chuckling, Geralt dips the spoon and raises a small portion to Jaskier’s lips. In his eagerness to get the food, Jaskier nearly swallows the spoon. Jaskier sucks on the spoon, savouring the taste and the texture. Oh how he’s missed eating. Holding him around the middle, Geralt uses one hand to limit Jaskier’s excited bouncing as he’s fed.

 

The kitchen door swings open, several shopping bags preceding a rather windswept looking Vesemir. His thick woollen jumper is green, and decorated with brown deer. Jaskier thinks it is a very ugly sweater, but says nothing. Vesemir takes one look at Jaskier perched in Geralt’s lap, happily nomming on the porridge he’s being fed, and quirks an eyebrow.

 

‘Good morning boys.’

 

Papa!’

 

Lambert slams into his middle, wrapping his arms around the grey haired man and nuzzling into his side. Still holding the shopping bags, Vesemir presses a kiss to the top of Lambert’s head. Untangling himself from the limbs wrapped around his middle, Vesemir sets the bags down on the table before pulling Lambert in for a proper hug. Jaskier watches, bemused, as Vesemir licks a stripe up the side of Lambert’s neck in greeting.

 

‘Hello pup, did you behave while I was gone?’

 

Letting go of Vesemir, Lambert nods, Geralt snorts, and Jaskier grumbles at the distraction in his feeding. Scowling, Lambert gives Geralt the finger, which earns him a quick clip over the ear from Vesemir. As Geralt returns to feeding Jaskier, Lambert’s focus zeros in on something poking out of one of the shopping bags. With a little ‘Ooo,’ he dives headfirst into the bag, emerging with a bar of chocolate, looking victorious.

 

‘Can I have this?’

 

‘Only if you help put the rest of the shopping away. There’s more bags in the car.’

 

Lambert grumbles, but puts the chocolate bar in his pocket and heads out the door. Looking around the kitchen, probably to make sure everything is in one piece (his eyes linger on the burnt tea-towel in the sink) Vesemir walks around the table and ruffles Jaskier’s hair fondly.

 

‘Someone fell out of his crib this morning.’ Geralt explains, bouncing his knee slightly and causing Jaskier to grumble. ‘He was up all night with a rash, there was something in the cream that he was allergic to. Between him and Lambert trying to set the kitchen alight this morning, we’ve had our hands full. I’m going up after breakfast to have a look at the crib, don’t want him falling out again.’



Ignoring their conversation, Jaskier tries to take the spoon from Geralt.



Geralt moves the bowl out of reach, and Jaskier doesn’t take his eyes off the spoon as Vesemir bends low to scent Geralt’s neck, who, distracted, holds it too far out of Jaskier’s reach. Squealing, Jaskier makes grabby hands at the spoon and Geralt chuckles, rewarding him with another mouthful of porridge.



‘Where’s Eskel?’ Vesemir asks, moving away and shuffling through several of the bags on the table. ‘There’s a heap of stuff in here for him. I spent two fucking hours in Baby Kingdom, which I never want to do again, even for my grandson.’

 

Geralt barks out a laugh, jostling Jaskier and causing him to dribble some of the porridge down his chin. Wiping it away with his thumb, Geralt comes too close to his sore lip and Jaskier fusses.

 

‘Sorry baby. Let Daddy wipe your face, then you can have some more porridge.’

 

It’s a fair trade. Jaskier’s so focused on the food that he barely notices when Vesemir lowers his voice, setting the bag down again as he leans a little closer to Geralt.

 

‘How was he, really?’ Vesemir asks quietly. Slowly sucking on the spoon as Geralt holds it, Jaskier realises that Vesemir is asking about Lambert.

 

‘He struggled. ‘ Geralt admits. ‘I stayed with him in your room last night. He almost broke his wrist punching a wall, and I think he stole Jaskier’s toy. Eskel’s upstairs now, looking for it.’

 

Jaskier perks up at the mention of Mr Wolfe. Eskel will find it, Jaskier knows. He sucks all of the flavour off the spoon again, and Geralt finally tugs it away with a lewd ‘pop’.

 

‘He was too young, he barely coped with the sacking of the keep. To lose Aiden as well-’ Vesemir sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s quiet for a moment, a feeling of mourning falling over the men. Aiden must have been a very special part of the family, Jaskier thinks, while waiting for another mouthful of porridge.

 

‘There’s a rather nice blanket for him in here somewhere, that ought to help settle him, if we get Jaskier’s scent on it.’ Vesemir continues, brow furrowed as he surveys the stack of bags spread across the table top. ‘And I want them to have some proper time together, -No, don’t interrupt me Geralt- I know Eskel’s been possessive, get him to up his dosage in the bottles, that’ll calm him down.’

 

Jaskier doesn’t like the sound of that at all.

 

None of his bottles have been anywhere near as bad as his first one, which he’s convinced was literally just semen mixed with honey. It gave him a tummy ache, and he still remembers the bitter taste as the thick milky substance spilled back over his chin after he vomited half of it back up. The wolves have been more kind since then, and the bottles are more milk than anything else, even if the horrid texture is still present.

 

He shifts uncomfortably at the memory, an unbearable reminder that he’s a prisoner. Geralt, close enough to notice the acrid shift in Jaskier’s scent, tugs him a little closer, giving him a reassuring cuddle.

 

Vesemir, now digging through the bags again, is unaware of Jaskier’s internal crisis, and continues speaking.

 

‘Ah, here it is. Alright, give me the pup, Geralt, and go and tell Eskel what needs to be done. Then I want the pair of you to go and fix that damn pothole in the driveway, I nearly lost the fucking car in there. I can handle the pups for a while.’

 

Not waiting for an answer, Vesemir lifts Jaskier from Geralt’s lap, wrapping the soft, new blanket around him.

 

Jaskier whines as he’s pulled away from the porridge, but Vesemir promptly kicks Geralt out of the chair and takes his place, settling Jaskier on his lap once more, now wrapped in the blanket. Jaskier chirrups as Vesemir picks up the spoon and resumes feeding him. By the time the bowl is finished, Jaskier is feeling very satisfied, and a lot less grumpy. Ambling into the kitchen with the last bags of shopping Lambert unloads the tin beans into the shelving, and Jaskier notices that he has a chocolate stain on his shirt to match the ash on his face.

 

Vesemir takes one look at Lambert and sighs. Taking the blanket off Jaskier, he folds it roughly and leaves it on the table before setting Jaskier down on the floor, then he gestures to Lambert.

 

‘Come here pup, you’re filthy.’

 

As Vesemir licks the stains off Lambert’s face and scrubs down his shirt with a wet cloth from the kitchen sink, Jaskier explores the kitchen floor, and ends up under the table. He’s not been allowed much freedom to explore, Eskel or Geralt hovering closely beside him at all times, and he enjoys himself. The padding of the fox onesie makes crawling around on the stone much easier, and Jaskier pushes a chair aside to clamber into his new cubbyhole. It’s cosy under the table, and it feels safe. He’s chewing on a forgotten bean that he found under Lambert’s chair (he’s not about to turn down any real food at this point) when Vesemir picks him up by the scruff of the neck, dangling him easily above the ground by the back of his onesie.

 

‘Yucky, pup. Give it to me.’ Vesemir holds out a hand expectantly, and Jaskier reluctantly spits the half chewed bean onto his palm. Vesemir deposits it in the sink, wiping his hand on the very ugly sweater. ‘Good boy.’

 

Jaskier kicks his legs happily as Vesemir hoists Jaskier onto his hip. He likes being a good boy.

 

‘Did anyone collect the eggs while I was gone?’ Vesemir asks, checking Jaskier’s mouth for any more foreign objects. Lambert snorts and shakes his head.

 

‘No. Geralt won’t go anywhere near that fucking rooster, it wants him dead. Wish he would, seeing the big tough wolf be chased around the yard by a chicken less than a foot tall is fucking fantastic.’ Lambert says with a grin. The corners of Vesemir’s mouth twitch into a tiny smile. Holding Jaskier against his hip with one hand, Vesemir pats Lambert on the shoulder.

 

‘Alright pup, go grab a basket, we’ll go down together. You can hold Jaskier’s hand, but I swear to god, if I catch you touching him inappropriately or fucking humping him again, I will castrate you myself. Understood?’

 

‘Yes.’ Lambert grumbles, kicking sheepishly at the ground.

 

Jaskier’s cheeks flush hot, a strange mix of arousal and embarrassment. So that’s what happened.

 

‘Look at me, pup, not the floor. Consent, Lambert, is very fucking important, and it can’t be given if he’s sleeping. There will be no rape under my roof, do you hear me boy? No- do not argue with me, pup, I don’t care what Geralt thought- I will get out the cane to drive the lesson home if I have to, for both of you. Now go and put on your boots, I don’t want to hear any more about it.’

 

Looking rather ashamed, Lambert scurries away to collect his boots. Jaskier wants to reach out, to tell Lambert it’s okay, to say that he’s not mad, but he doesn’t. He can’t. The tiny pale scars on the back of his hands are a reminder of what a cane can do.

 

When he was seven, his father caught him stealing a chocolate from the pantry. He was hungry, but his father didn’t care. Good boy’s don’t steal. The blinding pain as the whip thin cane cracked down over his knuckles again and again, is a vivid memory that Jaskier won’t forget, and the mention of a cane keeps him quiet. Cuddling closer to Vesemir, Jaskier whimpers, rubbing idly at the back of his hand. He stays quiet. They haven’t forced him to wear the pacifier again, and he really doesn’t want to push his luck.

 

He’s determined to be a good boy.

 

Idly, Vesemir rubs reassuring circles against Jaskier’s back as he’s held, and Jaskier finds himself settling into the comforting touch. Vesemir hums softly as he digs through one of the shopping bags on the table, looking for something. With a little ‘Ah,’ he pulls out a pair of gumboots. When Vesemir sits Jaskier down on the floor, kneeling beside him with the boots in hand, Jaskier blinks in surprise. A gift? For him? He trills happily and holds up his leg obediently as Vesemir slides the gumboots onto his padded feet, one at a time.

 

The boots are blue, and have little strawberries printed across the sides. They clash horribly with his onesie, but Jaskier doesn’t complain.

 

The gumboots, combined with the thick diaper around his hips, make Jaskier toddle. He’s more than a little wobbly, but hey, he’s walking, even if he is holding Vesemir’s hand for support. There’s an extra large scarf wrapped around his neck to keep the chill off, and the fluffy ears of the fox onesie flop around in the icy breeze. Lambert re-emerges, boots on and with a basket in hand, and Vesemir waits patiently while Lambert shucks on a thick winter coat.

 

The courtyard is cold, and even bigger than Jaskier imagined. High stone walls surround the keep, little piles of melting snow banked in areas bathed in shadow. Mud puddles are dotted around the cobblestone courtyard, the hard stone visible in patches. A large iron gate, with thick bars and twisting metal hinges is locked and barred, separating them from the mountainside. Jaskier thinks briefly back to his great escape. He never would have got past that gate, and that’s if he survived his fall off the roof.

 

Looking back, he realises it wasn’t a very good plan.

 

With a small nod from Vesemir, Lambert shyly reaches out a hand, and Jaskier doesn’t hesitate to take it. Lambert’s fingers are warm, and Jaskier can’t help the giddy excitement that bubbles inside him as Lambert holds his hand. It feels like a plethora of butterflies have been released in his belly. He’s got new boots, he’s outside in the winter sunshine, and he really likes Lambert.

 

Stumbling over an uneven cobblestone in the courtyard, Lambert catches him. Blushing furiously, Jaskier tells himself that he’s definitely not swooning over Lambert. He isn’t. He’s just excited to be outside. So excited he can feel his heart pounding in his chest, like it wants to explode. The faintest trace of a smile appears on Lambert’s face, but disappears quickly, Lambert’s expression schooled.

 

Vesemir leads the two of them through the courtyard, holding Jaskier’s other hand, and Jaskier bounces excitedly as the chicken coop comes into view. There’s at least a dozen chickens pecking around in a covered yard, clucking and scratching among the straw, shepherded by a very small, very fluffy looking rooster, strutting around like he owns the place. The little bird takes one look at the trio, and throws his head back, letting out a loud and obnoxious crow.

 

‘I can’t believe Geralt is scared of that. It’s fucking tiny.’ Lambert snickers.

 

Letting go of Lambert and Vesemir, Jaskier bounds forward to the fence, peering down at the little animals in the enclosed yard. The chickens are all different colours, and some even have little tufts of feathers around their feet. They look very funny. Bobbing down, Jaskier pokes his hand through the fence, one of the chickens notices him and runs over to peck at his mitten. Jaskier giggles.

 

‘He’s a bantam, they’re small, but the hens make good mothers, and they are easy to breed.’ Vesemir explains. At the word ‘breed’, Lambert snickers again. With an exaggerated sigh, Vesemir picks up a bucket hanging off the fence and fills it will seed from a large metal bin. Opening the gate, he gently boots a chicken out of the way so he can get into the yard. The chickens squawk and cluck excitedly at the sight of the bucket, and follow Vesemir around as he scatters the seeds, leaving Lambert and Jaskier on the outside of the fence to wait.

 

Standing up again as the chickens run away from the fence to chase the bucket of seed, Jaskier watches Vesemir closely. Even though he seems more stern, and is a little bit scary, Vesemir allows him much more freedom than Geralt or Eskel. He enjoyed crawling around on the kitchen floor, and he’s really enjoying being allowed to walk around the garden. It’s nice.

 

He can’t help the giggle of laughter at the tiny rooster strutting around after Vesemir. Oh he really really hopes he’ll get to see Geralt in here one day.

 

Apparently giggles are contagious, because Lambert snickers too. The sound of Lambert’s laughter is so much better than the sound of his pain, his cries of distress or his anger, and Jaskier snuggles just a little closer, finding his hand and giving it a squeeze. The touch elicits a small grunt of surprise from Lambert, and he looks down at Jaskier, almost as though he doesn’t quite believe that someone’s touching him willingly.

 

Lambert doesn’t boss him around, not like Eskel and Geralt, and he doesn’t make Jaskier wear diapers or do anything he doesn’t want to do; he’s really quite funny, even if he is a bit naughty sometimes, and Jaskier thinks he is very handsome. Feeling the butterflies flapping around like mad inside him, Jaskier gives Lambert a small, genuine smile, tucking himself into the space under Lambert’s arm.

 

A small keening noise makes its way from Lambert’s throat, the sound a mixture of pain and want.

 

This close, Jaskier can smell the leather, dirt and underlying musk that cling to Lambert’s clothing. His hands are warm, and Jaskier squeaks as Lambert turns to face him, wrapping a hand around his waist and tugging their hips together before pausing.

 

‘I- I want- Can I?’ Lambert whispers, his breath is hot against Jaskier’s ear.

 

The yellow eyes are searching, pleading.

 

Jaskier shivers as Lambert’s fingers trace over the fastenings on his outfit. He’s so close now that Jaskier can already taste him, the heat radiating off his skin and the warmth of his breath fluttering Jaskier’s eyelashes. Leaning desperately into the warmth of Lambert’s body, a keening noise leaves his own throat as Lambert brushes his nose against Jaskier’s. The scent of Lambert surrounds him, filling his lungs and stealing his breath, and Jaskier wants.

 

‘Y-yes. Please.’

 

Lambert’s lips are soft and warm, and he’s much more gentle than Jaskier imagined. It’s wonderful, electrifying, and Jaskier can feel the sparks flying, sending tingles to the very tips of his fingers and toes as Lambert kisses him. Lambert holds him close, and Jaskier can taste the porridge and the heat, and his eyes slip closed as he melts into the kiss. Slowly, so slowly, Lambert draws away, taking a shuddering breath.

 

Jaskier mewls, chasing the kiss, and Lambert chuckles softly.

 

‘You smell so good, Jask.’

 

The nickname settles in his heart, warm and lovely, and Jaskier preens. Stubble grazes his cheek as Lambert nuzzles against the side of his face, warm breath tickling his skin as a low purr rumbles between them. Tracing his fingers along the buttons at the front of Jaskier’s onesie, Lambert keeps a hold of Jaskier’s hip with one hand, tugging him closer. Jaskier rocks on his heels, excitement and heat pooling rapidly in his belly, hips still pulled flush with Lambert’s own. The friction is delicious, and as Jaskier grinds himself against Lambert, he can almost pretend he’s not wearing a diaper.

 

The first button pops open just above his belly button, Lambert’s deft fingers slipping inside to scrape against the soft skin of his belly. He hasn’t thought this out, at all, the pair of them standing amongst the straw outside the chicken coop, chickens clucking and scratching beside them, but Jaskier doesn’t care. Lambert grazes his teeth just under Jaskier’s ear, sucking small marks along Jaskier’s skin and Jaskier mewls again.

 

One of Lambert’s hands cups the side of his face, and he keens as Lambert kisses him again. Warm and soft and delicious. When Lambert licks over the split in his lip, teasing, Jaskier begins to wonder what else he can do with that tongue-

 

‘Alright, that’s enough pups.’

 

They surge apart like they’ve been shocked.

 

Chuckling, Vesemir hangs the empty feed bucket on the wooden fence beside them. Jaskier can feel himself trembling, but when he looks up, he sees that Vesemir isn’t mad, only amused.

 

‘There will be plenty of time for that later. Lambert, do that button back up and take Jaskier over to the nesting boxes. Don’t let him drop any of the eggs.’

 

Jaskier is thrilled that he’s not in trouble, and very pleased to see that Lambert looks just as flushed as he feels. Lambert’s cheeks are pink, and there’s an obvious bulge in the front of his jeans. Lambert grins at him, quickly refastening the buttons on Jaskier’s outfit. He presses a gentle kiss to Jaskier’s cheek before taking his hand once more, and Jaskier’s heart soars.

 

They collect two dozen small, brown eggs in their basket; Jaskier only drops one.

 

Notes:

A rather big development here that I wasn't planning on, but apparently Jaskier and Lambert had their own ideas on where they wanted this story to go, which, I can't blame them, they are pretty cute.

I'm absolutely loving all the comments, you guys are brilliant!

Chapter 7: Family

Notes:

I recommend re-reading the last chapter.

I also gave up on trying to work out how many chapters were in this story. It just keeps getting longer.

This is the most chaotic thing I've ever written and I do hope you are enjoying the lack of plot as it unfolds.

Warnings of minor sexual content and mentions of knotting. Because yeah, I lost control. My bad.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Letting out a satisfied huff, Jaskier snuggles closer to Lambert on the fur.

 

The fire is warm, the fur is soft and Lambert is purring. Jaskier’s blocks are scattered across the floor, forgotten. Lambert smells like leather and dirt and musk, and Jaskier takes deep, slow breaths. After their adventure through the garden, Vesemir had deposited both boys by the fire in the hall, leaving them alone together while he disappeared into the kitchen to make lunch. He’d left the kitchen door open, so Jaskier knew he was listening.

 

That’s why they’d been extra quiet.

 

Jaskier lets out another satisfied sigh, tucking himself further into the crook of Lambert’s arm. He’s feeling so much better, all the pent up frustration finally having been given somewhere to go. Kind of. The warm, sticky mess in his diaper isn’t overly pleasant.

 

Worth it.

 

Relishing in the afterglow, Jaskier mewls, nuzzling into Lambert’s side.

 

‘That good, huh?’ Lambert asks with a grin, wrapping his arms more securely around Jaskier’s middle and tugging him closer. Giving a small nod, Jaskier smiles softly into Lambert’s shirt, too tired and content to do much else. Lambert presses a gentle kiss to the top of his head, ‘I’m glad you’re feeling better.’

 

‘Thank you.’ The words are mumbled into Lambert’s shirt, a little huff of air with all the gratitude Jaskier can muster.

 

‘Don’t mention it.’

 

It hadn’t taken much, a few well placed thrusts against Lambert’s leg, and Jaskier was a goner. The cooling mess between his legs is a shameful reminder of how pent up he’d been. He nuzzles closer into Lambert, and Lambert makes a soft noise of approval, tucking his nose into Jaskier’s hair and breathing deeply. The rumbling purr that emanates from Lambert’s chest is soothing, the slow rise and fall of his chest comforting.

 

The sound of Vesemir chopping vegetables can be heard through the hall, and Jaskier dozes to the sound, feeling safe and so very satisfied. His eyelids droop as Lambert strokes through his hair, a calmness settling into his very bones. He’s not sure how long he dozes, safe and content, curled around Lambert by the fire. He never wants it to end.

 

Jaskier?’ Eskel’s disapproving voice startles Jaskier out of his contented slumber.

 

Blinking open his eyes, Jaskier shies away from the frown his Papa is wearing, pressing closer to Lambert. As Eskel approaches, Lambert curls more tightly around him, the purr turning to a low growl.

 

‘Lambert? Where’s Vesemir? Who’s watching Jaskier?’

 

‘I am!’ Lambert snaps, ‘And I happen to be doing an excellent job! He was sleeping.’

 

Eskel descends on them so fast Jaskier flinches. Tugged away from Lambert, Jaskier whimpers as he’s lifted into the air and scented. He squirms as the sticky substance between his legs rubs uncomfortably, and Eskel lifts him higher, sniffing around his diaper. Narrowing his eyes, Eskel’s nostrils flare, and Jaskier blushes. Eskel can’t smell his spend, can he-?

 

Apparently he can.

 

Lowering Jaskier again, Eskel shifts his grip, moving Jaskier to his hip and holding him very firmly with one hand on his thigh. Jaskier can feel the anger radiating off Eskel, and he stays as quiet and still as he can.

 

‘You didn’t.’ Eskel says to Lambert, his voice dangerously low. Jaskier cowers further into Eskel’s shirt, trying to hide. ‘He’s mine. You had no right-’

 

Face twisting in anger, Lambert snarls. ‘He wanted me. Is that so hard to believe? Just because you and Geralt knot each other in the fucking hallway-’

 

‘Leave Geralt out of this-’

 

‘It was Geralt’s idea! He just didn’t know you’d be so damn possessive. He smells right. I need-’

 

‘You need to stay the fuck away from my baby-’

 

They aren’t yelling, no, but the low hisses and snarls have Jaskier trembling in Eskel’s arms. He clutches at Eskel’s shirt, hiding his face so he doesn’t have to see how angry they are. It’s all his fault.

 

‘Even Vesemir can smell his frustration. You were tormenting him-

 

Still clutched tightly against Eskel, Jaskier can feel the muscles of Eskel’s torso tense at Lambert’s words, and he can almost taste Eskel’s rage as Lambert goads him. Jaskier’s breathing stutters, and he feels himself starting to sweat as the men continue to stare each other down, the tension in the air thick and heavy. Whining, Jaskier squirms. He wants to get down, to get away, but Eskel grips him tighter, still staring at Lambert.

 

Eskel wouldn’t hurt him, Eskel loves him-

 

‘What on earth is going on in here, I thought I told you boys to have some quiet play before lunch.’ Vesemir says walking into the hall, wiping his hands on a tea-towel that he slings over one shoulder. As Vesemir approaches, Eskel growls.

 

Eskel’s grip is hurting him.

 

Jaskier yelps.

 

The grip loosens immediately, but Jaskier trembles in fear, his thigh aching from where Eskel’s fingers dug into the flesh. Apologies tumble from Eskel’s lips, but Jaskier continues to struggle, his panic growing the longer he’s held against his will.

 

‘Oh god, baby I’m so sorry, Papa didn’t mean-’

 

As Jaskier lets out another desperate cry of distress, Lambert takes a step forward, looking as though he wants to snatch Jaskier away. Cutting himself off, the apology dies in Eskel’s throat as he growls, baring pointed canines at Lambert. Panicking, Jaskier wails.

 

Throwing down the tea-towel, Vesemir intervenes.

 

‘Lambert, back off. Now.’

 

Catching Lambert with a hand to his chest, Vesemir pulls him back, the two of them stepping away from Jaskier and Eskel. The movement causes Eskel to snarl, spittle flying as his grip on Jaskier tightens once more. Jaskier yelps again and Vesemir releases Lambert to turn on Eskel, his voice calm but reverberating with authority.

 

‘Eskel, put him down at once and step away.’

 

Vesemir’s voice is intimidating, his tone is firm, but not angry. Jaskier is lowered to the floor, heart still pounding rapidly. In his panic, he crawls towards Vesemir, the only one in the room not vibrating with emotion. Tucking himself behind Vesemir’s legs, Jaskier pops his thumb into his mouth and starts to suck, something he hasn’t done since he was very small, before the habit was beaten out of him. The fabric of the mittens doesn’t taste very nice, but he doesn’t care.

 

Step away.

 

Both alphas take several steps away from each other, panting heavily.

 

Easy, pups.’ Vesemir says slowly, holding up his hands placatingly. ‘Breathe. Eskel, breathe. There you go.’

 

Several moments pass in silence, the only sound in the hall the panting of the wolves and Jaskier’s whimpers. Resting a hand on Jaskier’s head, Vesemir slowly starts to stroke through his hair. It helps, and Jaskier quietens, nuzzling into the touch. Vesemir’s expression hardens, his yellow eyes flicking from Lambert to Eskel, cold and calculating.

 

‘Alright, listen closely pups, because I’m only going to say this once.’

 

Jaskier continues to suck his thumb, seeking comfort and reassurance as Vesemir scolds his pups.

 

‘This possessiveness will not be tolerated, from either of you. Someone will get hurt, and Jaskier doesn’t heal like you do. I’ve already made adjustments to his bottles to ensure this doesn’t continue. Now, in the kitchen, both of you. Lunch is ready. If I catch anyone growling or snarling, so help me god I will get out the goddamn muzzles again.’

 

Barely listening, Jaskier sniffles and curls his fist into Vesemir’s pants, trying to find something solid to hang onto, swaying slightly. He’s missing Mr Wolfe something chronic. The thumb in his mouth helps, but he needs Mr Wolfe now. It feels like he’s missing a limb. Having his Papa upset hurts. More than it should. Jaskier didn’t mean to upset his Papa, but Lambert was so warm and he smelled good and he was nice and-

 

Eskel makes a pained noise when Jaskier starts to cry, fat tears rolling over his cheeks, but Vesemir holds up a hand.

 

‘Eskel, wait.’

 

Eskel lets out a soft whine, but stays where he is.

 

All the happiness of his breakfast and snuggles with Lambert make way for misery, and Jaskier wails into the leg of Vesemir’s trousers. He wants his wolf, he wants his Papa to not be mad at him, and he wants to be a good boy.

 

Bawling his distress, Jaskier buries his face into Vesemir’s shirt when he’s lifted into the air. Continuing to stroke his hair, Vesemir keeps a close eye on Eskel as Jaskier wails into his shirt and continues to suck his thumb. He’s carried into the kitchen, Eskel following close behind.

 

‘Shh, you’re okay pup. Enough of that, it’s over.’

 

Vesemir lets Jaskier cry himself out into the front of his shirt, petting his hair rhythmically. Once Jaskier has settled a little, his cries subsiding to little hiccups, Vesemir places Jaskier in the highchair and steps away, gesturing to Eskel. Looking very much like he’s trying not to pounce, Eskel steps forward and takes over. Still sniffling, Jaskier wriggles in his chair, looking anywhere but Eskel.

 

It’s all his fault. His father was right, he’s no good, he doesn’t deserve love-

 

Jaskier lets out a small mewl of surprise, distracted from his self-depreciating spiral of thoughts by Eskel nuzzling against his cheek, wiping away his tears with a thumb.

 

‘Shh, little one. You’re okay. Papa’s so sorry baby. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

 

As Eskel cradles Jaskier to his chest, pressing gentle kisses to the side of his face, Jaskier begins to relax. He flinches a little when Eskel trails fingers over his thigh, a dull, throbbing ache blooming across the skin where Eskel had crushed him, and Eskel makes a low, pained noise in his throat. Gently tugging Jaskier’s thumb from his mouth, Eskel pulls a pacifier from his pocket. It looks different; its a different colour and it’s much smaller than his last pacifier. Jaskier realises with a start that its smaller because the straps are missing.

 

‘Do you want your paci, baby?’

 

His Papa’s trying to make him feel better.

 

His Papa isn’t mad at him.

 

Another tear rolls down his cheek as Jaskier nods. The feeling of the soft rubber is reassuring, and it tastes a lot better than the fabric of his onesie that covers his thumb. The suckling motion helps to calm Jaskier’s breathing, and he finds himself settling more easily into the chair, some of the tension in his shoulders draining away. He even leans into Eskel’s hand as he brushes Jaskier’s fringe aside lovingly.

 

His papa didn’t mean to hurt him.

 

‘There we go baby, good boy. Papa is so sorry. I’m just going to do up the chair straps to keep you safe. I love you, pup.’

 

Jaskier sniffles again, the words tugging at his heart. He’s so relieved that his Papa isn’t mad at him anymore that he sits still and lets Eskel buckle him into the chair. He lets out a small chirrup as his Papa kisses him on the head, brushing back a lock of hair, feeling relieved and very tired. Lambert looks much the same, propped on one elbow on the opposite side of the table, picking at a splinter in the wood. Vesemir watches them both closely, but neither make a move to resume the argument, and Jaskier relaxes a little more.

 

As Eskel finishes fastening the straps around his lap, Geralt wanders in, covered in dirt and sweat. He spots Jaskier sucking on his pacifier, Eskel still wiping away his tears, and Lambert sulking on the other side of the table. Making a small noise of confusion, Geralt raises an eyebrow at Vesemir.

 

‘Lambert and Jaskier had some quality time together this afternoon, and it’s ruffled some feathers.’ Vesemir says, and Geralt scents the air before letting out a little hum of understanding, and Jaskier can feel his cheeks burning all over again. ‘Once Jaskier’s had his bottle, everybody will feel better.’

 

Vaguely, Jaskier remembers Geralt’s warnings about alphas and their scent keeping him safe. His stomach twists unhappily at what that means for him. He squirms and fusses in his chair. Eskel soothes him with a hum and a small kiss behind the ear.

 

Geralt walks around the edge of the kitchen to approach Eskel, steering clear of Jaskier. There’s something in his back pocket, a bulge in the fabric under his shirt, but Jaskier can’t make out what it is. He watches, fascinated, as from the other side of the room, Geralt bows his head in submission, neck bared to Eskel. Eskel gives a low rumble of approval. He nods, and Geralt steps forward, giving his Papa a kiss on the cheek. Lambert grumbles, voicing his annoyance at the public display of affection.

 

‘I don’t need to see that, I’m about to eat!’

 

The other wolves ignore him. Separating from Eskel, Geralt locks eyes with Jaskier.

 

‘Guess what Daddy found?’

 

Jaskier whimpers, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. He doesn’t know what Geralt found, and he doesn’t really care. He’s hungry and tired and just a little bit stressed from the chaos of the afternoon. With a dramatic flourish, Geralt pulls the little lump from his back pocket, and Jaskier’s attitude changes immediately.

 

He squeals his happiness as Geralt holds out Mr Wolfe.

 

Snatching his toy from Geralt, Jaskier trills from behind his pacifier, kicking his legs happily.

 

‘Where was he? I swear I looked everywhere.’ Eskel says, as Geralt bends down to press a kiss to Jaskier's cheek. Geralt’s beard tickles, and Jaskier squirms. Snuggling into Mr Wolfe, Jaskier relishes the feeling of having him back, safe and sound. His fur smells like soap, and his tail is a little bristly from the wash, but he’s clean and safe and here.

 

‘Lambert’s wardrobe, hidden beneath his dirty clothes so I wouldn’t be able to smell it.’ Geralt says, casting an annoyed look at Lambert, who pokes out his tongue. ‘He’s had a wash. He was a little sticky.’

 

Lambert blushes as Vesemir sighs.

 

Putting a plate of raw vegetables and cheese sliced into sticks down on the table for Lambert, Vesemir turns back to the stove to finish the bottle. Wrinkling his nose at the offered vegetables, Lambert whines loudly. Vesemir ignores him, taking the milk off the heat. Lambert flicks a carrot stick at Geralt when Vesemir isn’t looking.

 

‘If I see that again Lambert, I’ll take it all away and you will go hungry. And after lunch we’re back to maintenance spankings, I’ve had enough of this attitude young man.’ Vesemir says, without looking away from what he’s doing. Lambert’s eyes go wide, and he lowers the cheese stick he’d been about to throw.

 

‘Nooo-’ He whines.

 

‘Yes.’ Vesemir says firmly, adding a large amount of- no, he really doesn’t want to think about it. Jaskier turns away so he doesn’t have to see just how much protein is going into his milk, but it’s a lot.

 

It’s his turn to whine, and Vesemir makes a noise of annoyance.

 

‘None of that, pup. The pair of you need a proper nap. Actually, after lunch I want all four of you on the rug. A proper grooming will do you all some good.’

 

A nap sounds really good, actually. He’s not sure about the grooming bit.

 

Between the bad night sleep because of his rash, being attacked by the floor this morning, the stress of being separated from his best friend, Mr Wolfe, and the excitement of the garden and Lambert, Jaskier is feeling really rather exhausted. And a little dirty. But mostly exhausted.

 

The sound of liquid sloshing fills the kitchen as Vesemir pinches the nipple shut and gives the bottle a really good shake. Something touches the side of Jaskier’s face and he grumbles, annoyed at being distracted from his reunion with Mr Wolfe. He turns to see Geralt looking at him, yellow eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiles.

 

‘Can Daddy take your paci, Jaskier? It’s lunch time. I’ll keep it safe for you, I promise.’

 

Jaskier grumbles a little more, considering. He likes this new pacifier, on account of the fact its not strapped to his face, and it’s his. On the other hand, Geralt is good at keeping things safe, which he’s proven by being a hero. When Geralt tugs on the end of the pacifier, Jaskier releases it with a ‘pop’.

 

Geralt found Mr Wolfe, so Jaskier is willing to trust him with his pacifier, just this once.

 

Taking the bottle from Vesemir, Eskel tests the temperature on his wrist before offering it to Jaskier. His Papa is careful to avoid pressing on the sore in his lip. Jaskier hesitates, but a gentle nudge and a soft hum of encouragement from Eskel has him parting his lips. He doesn’t want to upset his Papa again, but he also really doesn’t want to drink the bottle. As a small war rages in his mind about what to do, he uses his tongue to block the slit, stopping the flow of milk.

 

Eskel makes a small noise of disapproval.

 

‘Come on baby, be a good boy for Papa. I need you to latch, buddy.’

 

He wants to be a good boy. Latching onto the teat of the bottle, Jaskier gives it a tentative suckle.

 

Oh god it’s awful.

 

It’s even worse than the first bottle he had here in Kaer Morhen, if that were even possible. It’s thick, and tastes really bad. The fact that it’s warm isn’t helping at all. Vesemir hasn’t added any honey, and the texture is wrong. The taste of it sits heavy on the back of his tongue, and Jaskier gags and forgets all about being a good boy. Kicking his legs and whining, he turns his head away, spitting it back out. The liquid trickles down his chin and drips onto his onesie.

 

‘Come on baby, it’s not so bad. Papa wants you to be safe. Geralt can you get him a bib, he’s making a mess, there’s one in that bag. Maybe grab his wolf, I don’t want it getting dirty again already.’

 

No Papa- Nooo-’

 

‘Alright, you can keep your toy. But stop fussing and let Daddy put your bib on.’

 

Fussing and pulling away, Jaskier lets out a small whine as Geralt approaches, bib in hand. He pouts as the bib is fastened around his neck. It’s white, with blue trim, and it has a picture of a duck on it that matches the ones on his diaper bag. He hates it already. Letting out a rumbling purr of approval, Geralt moves away.

 

‘Do you want juice, Lamb?’

 

Lambert bounces in his seat, banging his fists on the table and nodding eagerly as Geralt opens the fridge, pulling out a bottle of apple juice. The bottles in the drawer of the fridge rattle as it opens.

 

‘I want a big glass.’

 

‘He can have a small one, and he needs to eat at least three carrot sticks first.’ Vesemir rumbles, passing Geralt what looks like a sippy cup before turning back and throwing a handful of sliced capsicum and onion into a fry-pan over the fire. The pan sizzles and spits, and Vesemir gives it a stir with a wooden spoon as Geralt half-fills Lambert’s cup.

 

Jaskier is so busy watching the commotion happening in the kitchen, wistfully aching for his own sippy cup of juice, that he startles when the bottle is pressed to his lips again, and he squeals his displeasure. It’s horrid and he can’t drink it. He can’t.

 

He wants juice. 

 

‘Juice Papa! Juice!’

 

‘After, Jaskier, if you’re good. Now, drink the bottle, pup. You want to be a part of the family, don’t you?’

 

The words reverberate through Jaskier's ears. 

 

Family.

 

Something inside him snaps, the part of him craving acceptance and love.

 

Holding Mr Wolfe just a little bit tighter, Jaskier stops fussing to look around the cosy little kitchen. His Papa is looking at him, yellow eyes sparkling as he waits patiently for Jaskier to settle and drink his bottle; Geralt is hand feeding Lambert, holding the sippy cup out of reach while Lambert finishes his carrot sticks; and Vesemir is dishing up a sort of stir-fry into three bowls, humming softly under his breath. 

 

Wanting desperately to be part of the family, Jaskier gulps down the whole damn bottle.

 

Notes:

Now taking bets on how long it actually takes me to get to the ending I have planned. Also, if there's anything you want to see, let me know.

Little bit of manipulation from Eskel here, just in case you forgot he's a kidnapper.

Chapter 8: Jaskier's Grooming

Notes:

Grooming. Because Jaskier and Geralt needed more time to bond. Slow and a little fluffy.

Also, background Little Lamb and Vesemir, because I can.

Edit- forgot content warning. Spanking, Non-consensual oral (kind of). Starts at 'Jaskier yelps when a rough tongue' and ends when Geralt says 'All done, nice and clean.’

Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jaskier is burped, de-bibbed and laid down on the fur by the fire in the hall for his supposed grooming.

 

He’s still not overly keen on the idea, and he’d much rather a bath, if he’s perfectly honest. He’s feeling slightly ill, and his tummy is cramping badly, but Eskel has calmed down considerably since he finished the bottle, if the low, rumbling purr is anything to go by. Kneeling by the fire is Geralt, prodding at the flames with a poker while Eskel pets Jaskier’s hair, gives him kisses and rubs his sore belly, telling him how much of a good boy he is. A little tummy ache is worth all the love and attention he’s getting from his Papa, and Jaskier preens happily. Having Mr Wolfe back is also helping, and he holds on to him very tightly, lest his wolf wander off again.

 

‘Didn’t know you had it in you.’ Geralt says to Eskel with a grin, stacking several large logs onto the glowing embers of the fireplace. Jaskier frowns, with the full intent on telling Geralt to go fuck himself, but then Eskel stops rubbing his tummy, and Jaskier is too busy trying to grab at his Papa’s hand to get him to keep going.

 

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Eskel says lightly, resuming rubbing firm circles above Jaskier’s bellybutton.

 

Vesemir lets out a bark of laughter from his position at the table, where he’s wrestling Lambert out of his dirty clothes, a large juice stain on the front of his trousers. Lambert snarls, but Vesemir ignores him, pulling the brown, roughspun shirt up and over his head, muffling the sounds of Lambert cursing.

 

The hall is warm, the logs on the fire piled high, filling the room with the scent of burning pine. The thick grey and white fur on the floor keeps the chill of the stone out of Jaskier’s bones, and Jaskier can see his crib off to the right, close enough to the fire to be warm, but not dangerous. Other than the scattering of Jaskier’s toy blocks, the hall is tidy, with Vesemir taking great pride in keeping the common areas in good condition. Jaskier is almost positive Vesemir’s bedroom would be immaculate, but he hasn’t been in there, which is probably a good thing. He’d really love to explore more of Kaer Morhen, but he hasn’t had the opportunity yet.

 

Unbuckling Lambert’s belt and tugging it off, Vesemir sets it on the table with the discarded shirt, beside the large baby book that Jaskier’s seen the wolves thumbing through. Turning to Eskel, he points at the kitchen, his other hand working at the button on Lambert’s jeans.

 

‘Eskel, leave the pup. Go and grab Lambert’s blanket from the kitchen, I want Geralt to groom him, see if we’ve curved this behaviour problem of yours.’

 

With a small sigh but no argument, Jaskier gets a gentle kiss on the cheek, and his Papa gets to his feet. ‘I’ll be right back, pup.’ He promises, Geralt already shuffling over from the fire to take over. Jaskier is a little preoccupied by the display happening on the other side of the room. As the last of Lambert’s small clothes are removed by Vesemir, Jaskier can’t tear his eyes away. There’s a familiar heat pooling low in his gut as he stares, transfixed, at the twisted mass of muscles, scars and the rather large-

 

‘Like what you see?’ Lambert grins, catching Jaskier staring.

 

Fuck. He’s still staring.

 

Vesemir clips Lambert over the ear, and Lambert’s grin turns to a pout as Vesemir pats his thigh. ‘Over my knee, boy. See if we can’t get some of that attitude out of you, too.’

 

There’s a small scuffle, and Jaskier watches as Vesemir catches Lambert by the scruff of the neck. Lambert falls instantly limp, very much like a scruffed kitten, whining. He curses loudly, and in what sounds like more than one language as Vesemir lays him over his lap. Holding him steady with one hand between his shoulder blades, Vesemir raises his other hand into the air. The first smack leaves a considerable red mark across Lambert’s backside and he jolts.

 

Fuck!’

 

‘Language, pup. For that you get fifteen more.’

 

No please, Papa I’m sorry, nooo-’

 

Vesemir doesn’t slow or hesitate, and the second smack against Lambert’s backside is even harder than the first, the crack resounding through the hall. Lambert yelps and wriggles, but Vesemir holds him firm. Geralt ignores the spectacle, tugging Jaskier’s limbs until he’s out of the onesie. Being manhandled helps to distract Jaskier from the punishment happening on the other side of the room. He refuses to put down Mr Wolfe when Geralt pulls his arms out of the sleeves, which makes getting him out of his clothes a little difficult. Somehow, Geralt manages.

 

Glancing down at himself, Jaskier flinches when he sees the bruise blooming across his thigh, from where his Papa accidentally hurt him. Just below his hip on the outside of his thigh, are four crescent moon shaped bruises, all a deep, vibrant purple. At the sight a small, pained whimper leaves him. Geralt makes a soft noise of sympathy.

 

‘You’re alright, pup. You know your Papa didn’t mean to. No- don’t play with it.’

 

A pained yelp follows another loud smack, and Jaskier stops poking his bruise to clutch Mr Wolfe with both hands. Lambert’s cries turn to soft whimpers as Vesemir rains several more blows to him, his bottom already a bright red. The sight of Lambert getting a spanking has Jaskier squirming uncomfortably on the rug, a strange mixture of arousal and fear, and he sticks his thumb back into his mouth, tucking Mr Wolfe’s head securely under his chin. He doesn’t need to watch this, because he’s a good wolf.

 

‘See what happens to naughty boys, Jaskier?’ Geralt says, and Jaskier squirms. ‘Thank you for drinking your bottle and not throwing it at the wall like Uncle Lambert did with his beans. You wouldn’t do that, because you’re a good boy. Now, thumb out buddy.’

 

Pouting, Jaskier clings to Geralt’s praise as his thumb is tugged out of his mouth. Lambert is very naughty. Not only did he throw his beans everywhere when Geralt told him to eat them all, he bit Geralt, the red mark still visible on the pale skin of his left hand. In comparison Jaskier was a good boy. He drank his bottle quietly, only gagging a little, and let Eskel wipe his face without fussing. The small amount of watered down apple juice he got afterwards almost made it worthwhile. Almost. Geralt’s low rumbling breaks Jaskier from his thoughts.

 

‘Alright pup, lets have a look. We don’t need diapers for grooming, do we?’

 

Jaskier makes a noise of protest and tries to kick Geralt as he reaches for the diaper.

 

Stop, Jaskier. Daddy’s going to clean you, and you’re going to behave. We don’t want to disappoint your Papa, do we?’

 

Unfastening the straps of Jaskier’s diaper, Geralt tugs it open. The cool air hits Jaskier and he shivers. He fusses, not exactly happy to be on full display for Geralt. Batting Geralt’s hand away, Jaskier can feel the heat in his cheeks as Geralt looks over the mess in Jaskier’s diaper and clucks his tongue.

 

‘Oh baby, you’re all sticky. Who’s a silly boy? You are a silly boy.’ Geralt says, giving Jaskier’s tummy a little tickle that makes him wriggle. 'Daddy needs to clean you off, and then we’ll get you some salve for that bruise, baby. Can you be a good boy and stay still?’

 

Jaskier lets out a little sniffle. Sticking his thumb back into his mouth, he nods, focused on Lambert and Vesemir, rather than the way Geralt is touching him. His eyes snap to and follow Eskel as he appears back in the hall, fluffy blue blanket that Jaskier was wearing earlier in hand.

 

‘Thumb out, pup. Here you go, Daddy’s got your paci.’ Geralt says.

 

Still carrying Lambert’s blanket, Eskel watches quietly as Geralt produces the small green pacifier from his pocket. Jaskier feels his thumb being tugged away, and he lets out a small whine, but settles when the new pacifier is pressed into his mouth. He shouldn’t even be sucking his thumb, let alone the pacifier, he’s an adult, but as Geralt pops the pacifier into Jaskier’s mouth and begin to rub circles on his tummy like his Papa was doing, he can’t help but let out a little satisfied huff. It feels so good, being touched like this.

 

‘There you go, good boy Jaskier.’

 

‘Be gentle with him, wolf.’ Settling himself down at the table, Eskel tugs the baby book towards him. He opens it, but it’s clear he’s more focused on watching Jaskier and Geralt than actually reading. Jaskier relaxes a little more, knowing his Papa is watching over him.

 

‘You’re doing well, Eskel.’ Vesemir says, pausing to soothe over the pinked skin of Lambert’s bottom as he nods at Eskel. Eskel lets out a small rumble of happiness at the praise, rubbing over the scars on his cheek with the palm of his hand. He still looks a little distressed at being away from Jaskier, but he’s not growling or snarling. A hiccupping sob from Lambert, still held securely over Vesemir’s knee draws the older man’s attention again. ‘Ten more, pup.’

 

The light touches to Jaskier’s sore tummy are lovely, and Jaskier arches his back just a little into Geralt’s ministrations. He isn’t sure anyone’s ever rubbed his sore tummy before. Certainly not his parents, at any rate. He sucks his pacifier blissfully, making a small noise of contentment and relaxing slightly into Geralt’s caresses, the steady petting of his tummy really helping the cramping.

 

When the sound of smacking ceases, Jaskier uncovers Mr Wolfe’s eyes, and they watch together as Geralt rummages through the diaper bag with one hand, the other still rubbing his tummy. He emerges with a small pot of salve that he places down on the fur. Jaskier hesitates, but decides another rash isn’t worth his silence, and Mr Wolfe agrees.

 

‘No mis-toe.’ His words are mumbled behind his pacifier as he bats at the little pot of salve. Geralt looks surprised that he’s been spoken to, but doesn’t react negatively, even though Jaskier’s clearly refused to call him Daddy. Instead, he smiles.

 

‘Thank you for telling Daddy, pup. I’ll remember that.’ He says softly. ‘I’ve got your new cream here, no mistletoe.’ He presses a kiss to Jaskier’s tummy, and Jaskier turns his head away. He’s not enjoying the soft side of Geralt. He’s not.

 

Head turned and still holding on to the little bit of defiance he has left, Jaskier watches as Vesemir manoeuvres Lambert into a sitting position on his lap, rubbing small circles on his back, like Geralt had done for him after his spanking. Still cradling Lambert to his chest, Vesemir speaks quietly, his golden eyes focused on the man in his lap.

 

‘There we go, all finished. You took that so well, Lamb, and I’m very proud of you. Easy pup, I know it hurts, cry it out, that’s it, I’ve got you.’

 

Lambert cries softly into Vesemir’s shirt, a large wet stain appearing on the fabric. His bottom looks very red and sore, large bruises blooming across the pinked skin. Jaskier lets out a little whimper of sympathy at the sight. He’s had smacks from Geralt before, sure, but nothing close to what Lambert just received from Vesemir, which means that Geralt really held back when punishing him. A weird feeling of gratitude to Geralt sneaks into Jaskier’s chest, and he pushes it down with a huff. Just because Geralt is petting his sore tummy, and doesn’t smack him too hard, (and maybe he’s a hero for saving Mr Wolfe), doesn’t mean Jaskier likes him. It doesn’t.

 

Despite the muffled sobbing on the other side of the room, as Geralt fusses over him, Jaskier can’t help but feel sleepy and content. He’s got his wolf and his paci, his tummy is full, he’s warm, the fur of the rug is soft against his back, and his Da- Damn it- Geralt’s hands are warm. Apparently, his tongue is even warmer. The first lick across Jaskier’s chest has him squirming, eyes snapping open. Geralt’s tongue is rough and large, much like the rest of him.

 

Good boy, that’s it, you’re doing so well.’

 

Soothing him by continuing to rub his sore tummy, Geralt licks another stripe up the side of Jaskier's chest, and the cool air on the drying saliva makes him shiver. Letting out a rumbling purr, Geralt lifts Jaskier’s hand, lathing over his fingers, his forearm and his shoulder in much the same way. By the time half of Jaskier's body has been licked, he’s got goosebumps all over. He’s a little jumpy, and isn’t really sure how he feels about the whole grooming thing, but at least Geralt is happy. Being licked is weird. Weird, but not bad.

 

‘I’m going to finish cleaning you baby, just relax.’

 

Jaskier yelps when a rough tongue is dragged across his sensitive skin, cleaning up the dried spend on his groin. He bites his pacifier as Geralt laps around his length, cleaning the entire area with his tongue like it's the most natural thing in the world. Jaskier arches his back off the rug as Geralt’s hot, rough tongue lathes over the head of his cock, tracing over his slit. It’s over as quick as it started, and Jaskier is released, half hard and grumbling with annoyance.

 

‘Nearly there pup, roll over for me.’

 

Oh no. No no no no.

 

Ignoring his protests Jaskier finds himself rolled onto his tummy, and he can’t help the small squeak that escapes him as Geralt licks the small of his back, a particularly ticklish area. He writhes and kicks, and a strong, firm hand is placed between his shoulders, keeping him still. He blushes all over again when Geralt manoeuvres his legs, lapping over the underside of his balls, and yelps when the tongue presses into him, just slightly.

 

Ohh, that’s-

 

That’s divine.

 

He wriggles his hips and whines when the heat against his entrance pulled away, leaving him wanting. The air is cool against his wet skin, and he shivers. He feels empty. Just as Jaskier realises that the fur of the rug can provide him with just a little bit of friction- Geralt rolls him onto his back once more. He lets out a dissatisfied huff, convinced that Geralt is actually trying to kill him.

 

‘All done, nice and clean.’ Geralt says with a smile, reaching for the small tin of salve.

 

Jaskier scowls. He doesn’t feel very clean.

 

The salve soothes the heated skin around his bruise, and Geralt lifts his hips to spread a little over the lingering bruises of his last smacking, too. A soft smelling baby powder is dusted on his groin, and a new diaper is fitted snugly around his hips. Leaning forward, Geralt snuffles the skin under Jaskier’s ear to scent him. Pulling back, he smiles and strokes the side of Jaskier’s face with his hand.

 

Good boy, Jaskier. You did so well.’

 

Still feeling rather dirty, Jaskier grumbles. He likes the praise, but he’s still mad.

 

Geralt kisses him, huffing at his neck, and a rumbling purr radiating from deep within his chest, and Jaskier softens. He likes it when they purr. Mr Wolfe does too. On the other side of the hall, Lambert’s cries turn to soft sniffles, and Eskel shuts the book, grabbing the blanket as he stands. The motion and the routine in which the men move have Jaskier wondering just how many years they’ve been doing this. When the blanket is wrapped around Lambert’s shoulders, Lambert sniffs at it tentatively, before snuggling into it with a soft huff. Vesemir smiles.

 

‘There we go. Eskel’s going to take you now pup, and he’ll get you groomed and down for a nap.’

 

‘I’ve got you, little Lamb.’ Eskel says softly. Lambert whimpers as he’s lifted off of Vesemir’s lap, but settles again quickly.

 

Lambert mewls as Eskel cradles him to his chest. Sniffling, Lambert snuggles into his brother’s shoulder, face stained with tears, blanket clutched in his hands. Eskel tucks the soft blue blanket tightly around his shoulders, and Lambert settles into it with a small huff, closing his eyes. Eskel rumbles happily, tucking the blanket securely around him.

 

‘He’s so much easier like this.’ Eskel says quietly, looking down at Lambert with something akin to awe. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so far down.’

 

‘I may be old, but I know a thing or two about wrangling unruly pups.’ Vesemir says with a chuckle, pushing himself up from the bench with a groan. Rolling his shoulders, he approaches Eskel and presses a gentle kiss to Lambert’s head. ‘Good boy, pup. You’re safe, you stay down as long as you need.’

 

Lambert closes his eyes and lets out a soft rumbling purr, nuzzling further into the blanket as Eskel cradles him.

 

‘Regression’s never come easily to him, poor pup, though he needs to go down regularly, for his own well-being. Having Jaskier here has been good for him, I think.’ Vesemir says, raising a hand and gently stroking through Lambert’s hair. ‘For all of you, actually. I never thought I would get to see you with a pup of your own, Eskel, and apart from today’s little mishap- well, Jaskier’s only been here a week, and he’s already settled in better than I expected. It must have been really tough out there for him, if anything Geralt says is to be believed, poor little tyke. He’ll still need the bottles for another month before the scent takes, three times a day; just because you and Geralt are bonded, doesn’t mean the rest of us want to put up with being snarled at, and it’s for his own good, you could have really hurt him today. I expect a little more self control, Eskel.’

 

Vesemir pauses for a moment, his eyes raking over Jaskier, happily curled on the rug, his wolf cuddled to his side, trying to catch Geralt’s fingers as he wiggles them in the air. With a soft huff, Vesemir smiles and lifts his hand, gripping the back of Eskel’s neck warmly. ‘Despite that- You’ve taken to parenthood well, the both of you. Eskel, Geralt, you’ve made an old man proud.’

 

Geralt stops playing with Jaskier, his back straightening just a little. He blinks several times, his yellow eyes glassy. A small noise of happiness rumbles from his chest, and he bows his head, the corners of his mouth twitching in a tiny smile. Jaskier bats at his hand, trying to get him to continue playing, and Geralt lets out a soft laugh, bending down to tickle him.

 

‘Thank you, Ves.’ Eskel says, leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together, Lambert held safely between them, still wrapped in his blanket.

 

Vesemir lets out a quiet hum, allowing Eskel to nuzzle against him for a moment before pulling away, awkwardly clearing his throat. ‘Now, down on the rug. Don’t make Geralt do all the work.’

 

Eskel carries Lambert over to the fireside, and Vesemir disappears into the kitchen. Jaskier chirrups excitedly as Lambert is placed beside him on the fur, Eskel plopping down next to him. Squirming to get closer, Jaskier tries very hard to roll onto his side so that he can see Lambert, but Geralt holds him still. Keeping the blanket wrapped over Lambert’s bare middle, Eskel begins the same process of grooming that Geralt's just finished doing to Jaskier.

 

‘Come here pup, Lambert needs a turn with Papa, you can sit on Daddy.’

 

To Jaskier’s surprise, Geralt removes his shirt, tossing it aside. His chest is hairy, taught muscles pulled tight over pale skin. Jaskier mewls as he's lifted onto Geralt’s chest, legs kicking happily as he’s pulled onto the firm bed of muscles. Geralt is warm, and even though Jaskier is wearing his diaper, the skin contact is wonderful. Eskel pauses mid-lick up Lambert’s thigh, and raises an eyebrow.

 

‘I read that skin to skin contact is really important for bonding.’ Geralt says, the deep rumble of his voice tingling through Jaskier’s entire being. Jaskier mewls again and presses his cheek to Geralt’s chest, settling into the warm embrace. Calloused fingers trail lightly down the curve of Jaskier’s spine, the touch feather light, and a little shiver makes its way through Jaskier’s body. It feels good, to be held, to have gentle touches, to feel the reverberations of purring, the heat of skin.

 

‘Seems to be working, he looks very happy there.’ Eskel says approvingly, the smile pulling at the scar across his lip. Jaskier nuzzles closer to Geralt, feeling the steady heartbeat beneath him. Lambert whines and tugs on Eskel’s arm. ‘Alright, Lamb- sorry.’

 

Eskel returns to grooming Lambert, pulling the blanket away as he moves lower. Lambert’s clearly used to the sensation of someone licking up his thigh, because he doesn’t wriggle or squirm like Jaskier had. He lets out a soft keening sigh as Eskel licks over his groin, but otherwise, doesn’t stir. The gentle sounds of licking, purring and the crackling of the fire in the hearth are soothing, and Jaskier tucks himself as close to Geralt as he can, relishing the feeling of touch. The last time he was held like this was after his bath, and he was almost too tired and sore from the rash to really enjoy it. Running his fingers carefully through the wiry, white hair on Geralt’s chest, Jaskier tries very hard to commit the feeling to memory. He never wants to forget how it feels to be held.

 

He falls asleep on Geralt's chest, content. 

 

Notes:

All love is appreciated as always, and I'm over the moon with all the feedback. This series has been so much fun to write, so I'm thrilled. Thank you!

Edit- 10000 hits! Woo! *Pours celebratory cup of tea.*

Chapter 9: A Typical Dinner

Notes:

Jaskier is feeling comfortable enough to have a tantrum. So he does.

Warning for *ahem* a proper changing (in the flashback, look for the ***'s) and mentioned snail cruelty. I never thought I would put either of those things into a sentence, let alone the same one, yet here we are.

Long chapter, if I've missed any mistakes, please let me know.

Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

There’s a large iron guard around the fire, protecting little hands from harsh burns, and crayons scattered across the floor; the accompanying half finished drawings fluttering in the gentle breeze drifting in through a crack in the stone walls of the hall. The smell of baking bread wafts through the air, and Jaskier has every intention of investigating the kitchen once he’s finished here. Snuggling closer to Lambert in the shadows, Jaskier bounces excitedly on his knees and tries not to giggle. With a broad grin of his own, Lambert covers Jaskier’s mouth with his hand, quietening him as they hide together under the table.

 

Shhh, he’s coming.’

 

***

 

Waking from his nap on Geralt, only to find himself back in his crib, swaddled, and with a horrible feeling in his diaper, was devastating for Jaskier. Unable to use his arms to search for Mr Wolfe, he panicked, an almighty screech tearing from his throat. He was feeling really small and he needed Mr Wolfe, right now. Tears of shame and frustration streamed down his cheeks, and he wailed until Vesemir’s weathered face appeared over the side of his crib.

 

Oh thank the gods.

 

Vesemir was here to rescue him. Lambert trailed along behind him, wearing an outfit Jaskier hadn’t seen before, rubbing sleepy eyes and still clutching his blanket in one hand. Looking rather adorable in a light brown romper suit, with embroidery on the pockets and a soft white undershirt, Lambert wrinkled his nose as he approached Jaskier’s crib, before shaking his head and stepping back. In his despair, Jaskier cried harder. Vesemir was undeterred.

 

‘Oh pup, that’s not a very nice way to wake up, is it? Lets get you changed. Here we go.’

 

Promptly unswaddled from the blanket and handed Mr Wolfe, Jaskier didn’t stop crying until Vesemir lifted him out of the crib. The cramping in his tummy was gone, but he was dirty. Without complaint or comment, and without shaming him, Vesemir changed him there on the rug, wiping him down carefully and clinically before pulling a fresh diaper from the diaper bag. The first time he’d messed himself, Jaskier had been mortified. He’d screamed himself hoarse, the shame too much for him to handle and had refused to look at anyone for two days. Now, well, it was still mortifying.

 

Dressed in a matching romper suit (which he really likes, because he has fingers) with small flowers embroidered on the pockets Jaskier was set down on the floor beside Lambert, Mr Wolfe clutched in one hand. As he chewed on his fingers, overjoyed to have them back, Vesemir put him in warm, woollen socks that looked home-made. With a clean diaper, Jaskier is feeling much better.

 

‘There you go, pup, all clean.’ Vesemir said, running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. ‘Now, I don’t want to see you walking on your own, pup, you’re far too little right now. You can crawl around the hall and play with Lambert, or come and sit quietly while I finish preparing dinner in the kitchen. Your Daddy and Papa will be down as soon as they can.’

 

‘They’re stuck.’ Lambert said, rolling his eyes, and Vesemir swatted him on the bottom, making him yelp.

 

‘Enough, Lamb. Jaskier’s too little for that kind of talk.’

 

Scowling, Lambert rubbed his bottom.

 

Having chosen to play with Lambert, rather than watch Vesemir cutting up vegetables, Jaskier was delighted when they’d found something both slimy and crunchy in the far corner of the hall, near a large crack in the stone that let in the bitter breeze from the courtyard. Collecting several of the both slimy and crunchy things in his palm, Lambert decided on their newest game, and Jaskier followed him, crawling across the stone, as Lambert set his plan into motion.

 

Now all they had to do was wait.

 

 

***

 

 

 

Jaskier isn’t very good at waiting, as it turns out, and tugs on a loose thread of Lambert’s blanket with a bored sigh.

 

Noo- Jask, that’s mine. Give it back.’

 

The sound of quiet, padded footsteps through the hall has Jaskier’s heart-rate picking up. He drops the blanket, holding his breath, Lambert quivering with excitement against his side. Mr Wolfe is tucked into one pocket of his romper, safe and secure. Peaking out from between the legs of the chairs that surround the large table that he’s currently hiding under, he sees a pair of legs wearing tight fitting black jeans and dark socks walking across the hall. Geralt. The legs walk towards the courtyard door, and out of view, and Jaskier tries very hard not to giggle. Lambert is silently clutching his arm, his pupils blown in the low light, a huge grin on his face as his plan falls into place perfectly.

 

There is a small shuffle of clothing as Geralt pulls on a boot, followed by a horrible crunching sound.

 

‘LAMBERT!’ Geralt bellows, and Jaskier peeks through the chair legs to see Geralt holding his boot by the heel, tipping it upside down. Several little shells skitter across the floor, and Geralt looks more closely at the nearest one, brow furrowed in annoyance. ‘What- why are there snails in my boot? LAMBERT!’

 

Lambert stifles his laugh into his fist, doubled over in hysterics. The silent fit of giggles is contagious, and Jaskier can’t help it, his laugh is high and full of pure joy, but it’s loud. The scraping of chair legs indicate they’ve been caught, and Lambert takes off like a rocket, his blanket flapping behind him, leaving Jaskier scrambling to crawl away as a large hand reaches beneath the table. Jaskier lets out a squeak as he’s hoisted into the air by the scruff of his neck.

 

‘Not so fast, little scallywag.’ Vesemir’s voice is deep and booming, and Jaskier wriggles in his grip. Dangling Jaskier in the air, Vesemir’s yellow eyes narrow. ‘What trouble have you been getting into? You were supposed to be colouring.’

 

The yelp and subsequent snarl indicate that Geralt has caught Lambert in a similar fashion.

 

‘Lemme go!’

 

‘Settle, pup. I thought you’d be better behaved, considering the colour of your bottom, Lambert.’ Geralt sounds amused. Jaskier squirms and glances over in time to see a scowling Lambert poking his tongue out at Geralt.

 

Dangling helplessly in a firm grip, Jaskier tries to look innocent as Vesemir looks him over, again checking his mouth for foreign objects. Jaskier scowls, he’s not a savage. The bean was just too tempting to resist, that’s all. Finding nothing in his mouth, Vesemir checks Jaskier’s diaper before moving onto his pockets. Squealing again, Jaskier kicks and wriggles, to no avail. He is devastated when Vesemir finds and takes the snail from his front pocket.

 

That’s his friend.

 

With a little huff of laughter, Vesemir jostles Jaskier, causing him to grumble. ‘Come on, you are going to help me in the kitchen, pup. Geralt, you can take Lambert into the garden. I think they’ve caused quite enough mischief for one afternoon.’

 

Holding Lambert like a scruffed kitten, Geralt’s chuckles as he sees Jaskier dangling in Vesemir’s grip. ‘Eskel will be up soon, he’s just-’

 

‘Yes yes-’ Vesemir interrupts rather brashly, the hand still holding Jaskier’s friend waving Geralt away. ‘I’ve already heard quite enough of your afternoon through the walls, thank you Geralt. Lambert will need his jacket if he’s going outside, I don’t want him catching a chill. And collect the eggs.’

 

Oh no. Jaskier squeals his disappointment, kicking his legs angrily. He really wants to go with them. He was having fun with Lambert, and he’d happily spend time with Geralt if it meant watching him be chased by a rooster. He kicks again, whining loudly and Vesemir pats him sharply on the bottom, making him yelp.

 

‘Enough of that, pup, lets get your crayons, you can colour in the kitchen while I prepare dinner.’

 

Soon Jaskier’s drawings are spread around on the kitchen floor, his little box of crayons propped up against Mr Wolfe, who is doing a great job as a model. Vesemir put his snail (which Jaskier had named Slimy) in the kitchen window box, the little critter immediately going to town on the overgrown mint. All of his drawings are of the little grey wolf, with big fluffy ears and a soft, waggly tail. There is one picture of Slimy, and one of Eskel and Slimy, which Jaskier thinks turned out rather well.

 

The smells dancing around the room are divine, but Jaskier’s already been told off twice for trying to snatch food off the counter, the second time came with a rather mean smack on his bottom from Vesemir, so he didn’t risk a third.

 

‘What’s all this then?’

 

Jaskier lets out an excited shriek as his Papa wanders into the kitchen, wearing soft sleep clothes, hair still wet from the hot springs. Eskel gives a grateful nod to Vesemir, who’s busy stirring gravy over the fire as Jaskier bounces excitedly on the floor.

 

Papa!’

 

‘Hello my little love, what have you been doing?’ Eskel’s knees crack as he bobs down beside Jaskier to admire the scattered drawings. Jaskier hurries to finish his current picture, and with a final flourish, he holds up the drawing, beaming.

 

‘Making a mess, we’re going to have to get him a playpen.’ Vesemir says, kicking one of the escaped crayons back towards them. Ignoring the jibe, because he absolutely does not need a playpen, Jaskier presses the drawing into his Papa’s hands.

 

‘Is that me?’ Eskel asks, his eyes wide as he takes the page. Nodding enthusiastically, Jaskier bounces up and down on his diaper, reaching up and making grabby hands so his Papa will pick him up. Choking back something that sounds a little like a sob, Eskel studies the drawing carefully, before reaching over to where Jaskier’s still bouncing eagerly.

 

‘Aw pup, it’s beautiful. I love it so much, Jaskier.’

 

Large hands wrap themselves around Jaskier’s middle and he squeals in delight as he’s lifted off the ground, burrowing himself into the cuddle as his Papa showers him in kisses. ‘And what are you wearing? You look so damn sweet I could eat you up!’ Eskel growls playfully, nibbling gently on his neck. Jaskier shrieks and kicks his legs, it tickles.

 

Vesemir waves a wooden spoon in their direction, interrupting their game.

 

‘Can you pick up his toys and get him into the highchair please, dinner is nearly ready. I haven’t made his bottle yet, I’ve been up to my elbows making some of Lambert’s favourites. I need you to set the table and-’

 

Not overly interested in listening to Vesemir giving orders, Jaskier sniffs the air hopefully, looking around the kitchen from his Papa’s arms. The scent of hot bread and roasted meat is making his mouth water. He leans back to try and catch a glimpse of what’s cooking in the oven, but his Papa catches him with a broad hand across his back and pulls him upright, tugging Jaskier firmly against his chest. Mewling, Jaskier snuggles into the muscles and soft clothes.

 

With Jaskier’s artistic rendition of Eskel pinned to the fridge and his toys back in a small basket, he’s strapped into his chair, a clean bib buttoned around his neck to protect his new romper. From this height, he has a much better view of the kitchen, and he glares wistfully as the food is prepared. Vesemir bustles around, apron tied around his waist, seasoning, stirring and tidying the kitchen as he goes. Jaskier watches as his Papa sets the table, prepares his bottle and starts to bring steaming bowls and side-dishes to the table, setting them in the centre, out of Jaskier’s reach.

 

A tureen of gravy follows a big bowl of peas seasoned with mint and butter, a jug of mint sauce, a tray of honeyed carrots, a dish that looks like cauliflower smothered in cheese-sauce and a smattering of roasted turnips, parsnips and beetroot, all from the garden and seasoned with pepper.

 

It looks so good he could cry.

 

When Vesemir pulls a huge leg of roast from the oven, tray still sizzling and spitting, Jaskier drools. It smells so damn good, the swirling steam rising off the perfectly seasoned crackling, juices dripping from the sides into the pan, which is full of roasted potatoes, golden and crispy.

 

Letting out a whine, Jaskier makes grabby hands at the roast. He shrieks in frustration as Vesemir walks straight past him and sets it down on the kitchen bench-top. Changing tactic, Jaskier stretches, wriggling his fingers as he tries to reach the food his Papa has put down on the table, but it’s no use. The straps on the highchair hold tight, and he can’t reach anything. His Papa is too busy adding honey to his bottle to see what Jaskier’s asking for. So, feeling a little desperate, he screams it instead.

 

‘Roast!’

 

‘Patience, pup. Your dinner is nearly ready.’ Eskel says over his shoulder with an easy smile, taking the milk off the heat as Vesemir begins to carve large pieces of roast and lay them onto an enormous plate. Unhappy with this answer, Jaskier looks around the table. Eventually, by wriggling just the right way, he manages to reach a fork, which he bangs on the table to show his annoyance, because he can’t reach the food. Eskel lets out an exasperated sigh.

 

‘No, Jaskier. Papa’s getting your bottle. You can play with the fork but please don’t hit the table.’

 

Jaskier doesn’t want a bottle. He wants roast.

 

Considering his options, Jaskier squeals and bangs the fork on the table again. Being good isn’t going to get him roast, he knows. He’s tried everything to get the wolves to share their dinner with him, but they never do. He’s not quite sure how he’s just surviving on milk, but it seems to have all the nutrients he needs, because he’s not starving. He’s just grumpy. He wacks the fork on the table again, leaving a small dent in the wood. Eskel frowns.

 

‘No Jaskier, ta- give Papa the fork.’

 

Shrieking his displeasure, Jaskier throws the fork across the room.

 

The clatter of the silverware hitting the floor has his Papa raising his eyebrows and Vesemir pausing from carving. The silence is deafening.

 

No, Jaskier.’ Eskel says at last, setting down the half filled bottle to retrieve the fork, which he puts into the sink. ‘Last warning, pup. Behave or you get a smack.’

 

He doesn’t want a smack, either. He wants roast. Letting out a loud whine of frustration, he slumps in his chair, fishing Mr Wolfe out of his pocket for comfort. He strokes over the soft ears, thinking.

 

He isn’t defeated yet, he just has to think harder.

 

As the last of the dishes are carried to the table and set far out of his reach, Lambert bounds into the kitchen, wearing the biggest grin Jaskier’s ever seen. He’s followed by a slightly dishevelled looking Geralt, who has a basket of eggs in one hand, and a long and narrow cut on the other, hastily cleaned and looking almost as angry as the bite-mark from Lambert.

 

‘The rooster got him!’ Lambert announces happily, bouncing over to where Jaskier is sitting and nuzzling against him. Catching Jaskier’s lips in a chaste kiss that tastes like apple juice, Jaskier mewls. Even though he didn’t get to see Geralt being mauled by a chicken, this is pretty good too. Grabbing Lambert by the scruff of his neck, Geralt pulls him away causing both boys to whine.

 

‘Wash your hands first, Lambert, don’t make Jaskier all dirty too.’ Geralt says with a growl, carrying both Lambert and the basket of eggs to the sink. Peering into the basket, Vesemir looks them over with a satisfied hum, slinging the tea towel over his shoulder as he does so.

 

Grumbling, Lambert is plopped down in front of the sink. Geralt adds a generous dollop of soap to Lambert’s palm, guiding him to wash his hands properly before washing his own and wrapping a clean piece of linen around his injured arm. Eskel watches as Geralt supervises Lambert, a smile pulling at the scar across his lip.

 

Setting aside Jaskier’s bottle, Eskel wraps his arms around Geralt and kisses his cheek, a happy rumbling sound leaving his chest. Jaskier has started to grow accustomed to all the strange noises the men of Kaer Morhen make, and finds the happy little purr quite endearing. Nuzzling against Geralt, Eskel points towards the fridge.

 

‘Look, Jaskier’s been drawing.’

 

Slightly bemused, Geralt leaves Lambert at the sink to finish washing up, steals the tea-towel from Vesemir’s shoulder to dry his hands, and bends slightly to admire Jaskier’s artwork, his supple bottom on display. From his chair, Jaskier admires the view, tilting his head to the side just a little. He’s not Lambert, but Geralt does have a very nice bottom.

 

‘Wow.’ Geralt sounds impressed, and Jaskier glows. ‘Did you draw your Papa, Jaskier?’ Geralt asks, looking over to the highchair. Jaskier nods enthusiastically. It is a work of art. As much as anyone can create a work of art with crayons, anyway. Wrapping his arms around Eskel’s middle, Geralt presses them together, Eskel still smiling. Nuzzling against his ear, Geralt’s words are quiet, whispered, but Jaskier catches them anyway. ‘I can’t believe it’s worked this well. He’s not even trying to run anymore.’

 

Huh. Frowning, Jaskier crosses his arms with a little huff. It’s not perfect, being a prisoner, but it’s better than nearly freezing and starving on the streets.

 

‘He’s perfect. I love you.’ Eskel says, leaning back and bringing his lips to Geralt’s, the rumbling purr of happiness audible from the both of them as they press together. Jaskier feels a pang of jealousy. He doesn’t like being left out.

 

‘Ewww, stop. I don’t wanna see that-’ Lambert interrupts, pushing them apart with wet hands. There’s a large wet spot on the front of his shirt from where his hand washing went slightly awry, and he’s left the tap running. ‘I can draw better. I’ll show you-’

 

Snorting, Geralt sidesteps Lambert and Eskel to turn off the sink as Lambert bounces towards the basket with crayons. Vesemir catches him by the collar, a basket of bread rolls in his other hand straight from the oven.

 

‘After dinner, pup. Now, at the table, all of you.’

 

‘I wanna sit with Jask.’ Lambert announces, dragging a chair across the floor. The loud scraping sound hurts Jaskier’s ears and he flinches. Vesemir stops Lambert from rearranging the furniture.

 

‘No pup, Jaskier needs to sit with his Papa, and you need to sit between to Geralt and I so that we can help you.’

 

‘I don’t need help!’ Lambert snips as Vesemir pulls his chair back to where it was. He clambers up, knees on the seat.

 

‘I know you don’t. Now, sit properly, Lamb. And fingers out- wait for Geralt.’

 

‘But it’s my favourite!’

 

‘I know, that’s why I made it. Now sit on your bottom.’

 

As Lambert is put onto his bottom by Vesemir, Geralt fills Lambert’s sippy cup, ruffles his hair and takes his seat at the table. Grabbing the bottle from the bench top, Eskel follows Geralt and sits on Jaskier’s other side. Setting the basket of hot bread down on the table, Vesemir sits at the head of the table. From his position, Jaskier whines. The little rolls baked to golden brown perfection and they smell amazing.

 

Everything on the table looks amazing, and Jaskier’s tummy rumbles, his mouth watering.

 

The chatter around the table is easy, happy. On the opposite side of the table, Lambert drains his juice and belches. Vesemir scolds him as Geralt piles roasted vegetables and meat onto his plate, but Jaskier can’t tear his eyes off the food. If he can just-

 

Reaching for a bread roll from the basket, Jaskier shrieks as Geralt catches him by the arm.

 

‘Not for little boys.’

 

Moving the basket just out of reach, Geralt makes a comment to Eskel about ‘feeding the poor boy before he starves’ and Jaskier squeals in frustration. He wants food. He wants so badly he can feel the tears prickling in his eyes. Jaskier lets his frustration be known with another loud shriek. He might actually stab somebody if they don’t let him have a bread roll. Instead, Eskel offers Jaskier the bottle and Jaskier loses it.

 

‘Here baby, I know you’re hungry. You had a big afternoon with- I don’t suppose we should call him uncle Lambert anymore, should we?’ Eskel says with a chuckle. ’-a big afternoon with Lamb. Don’t fuss, I put extra honey in for you, I know you like the sweetness pup.’

 

As kind as his Papa is, Jaskier doesn’t care right now. He’s feeling small, frustrated and hungry. Smacking the bottle away rather forcefully, Jaskier shakes his head and reaches for the bread rolls again. He can feel his disappointment building, a hot prickle of tears forming in his eyes. He just wants one.

 

Geralt tuts and moves the basket of rolls even further away as Lambert starts to inhale his food, using his fingers to eat as fast as he can, his fork forgotten. Gravy drips down his chin, and he tears at the meat with his teeth. Sighing at the mess, Vesemir picks up his own fork and knife, neatly cutting his own dinner before starting to eat, letting out a satisfied hum as he tastes the food.

 

At the sight of others eating, Jaskier’s lip quivers, and the tears that were threatening to spill over finally do. With a loud, shuddering sound, Jaskier starts to cry. His tears are hot, and streak down his cheeks as he wails his unhappiness from his highchair. It’s not fair.

 

All he wants is a goddamned bread roll.

 

‘Oh no, baby, don’t cry.’ Eskel says gently, stroking at his hair.

 

When this doesn’t work, and Jaskier only pulls away, Eskel offers him the bottle again, and again, Jaskier swats it away, starting to cry harder than he ever has in his life. He’s not scared of being hit, just because he’s sad. He’s safe here, even though he’s making noise, and he knows it. So he screams.

 

The straps on the chair are unbuckled, and strong arms lift Jaskier easily. Wailing into his Papa’s shirt, Jaskier cries out his frustration. Bouncing him, Eskel pats his bottom, trying to soothe him.

 

‘Just feed him the damn bottle already, he’s clearly hungry.’ Geralt says, catching the gravy boat as Lambert knocks it with his elbow reaching for his juice. ‘Lamb, be careful.’

 

‘I am being careful!’

 

Jaskier shakes his head into Eskel’s shirt, smearing snot and tears everywhere. He doesn’t want a bottle. Eskel continues to pat his bottom and stroke his hair, making small hushing noises, but the food smells so good, and Jaskier wants.

 

‘Come on pup, you can sit on Papa’s lap. If you drink your bottle, we can ask Daddy to make porridge again in the morning, how does that sound?’

 

‘No!’

 

He doesn’t want porridge tomorrow, he wants roast now. Okay, maybe he does want porridge tomorrow, but he also wants roast. It’s not fair.

 

‘I want- please- Papa please.’ The words are broken by desperate sobs as Jaskier pushes away from Eskel, kicking and fighting. Eskel holds him easily, though he looks less than impressed. The sound of choking at the table creates a mild distraction, and Geralt thumps Lambert hard on the back, a huge piece of potato flying from his mouth and soaring across the room.

 

‘Smaller bites, pup- no, don’t look at Jaskier, he’s being naughty. Eat your dinner.’ Geralt takes Lambert’s plate and passes it to Vesemir, who starts to cut the food into smaller portions. Scrambling up onto his knees, Lambert bounces in anticipation as he waits for his plate to be passed back.

 

‘Stay on your bottom.’ Vesemir says, pointing at Lambert with the knife. ‘And Eskel, deal with your pup, I won’t have tantrums at the table.’

 

Jaskier wails louder, kicking out with both legs, catching Eskel in the side with his knee. Eskel lets out a soft grunt.

 

No, Jaskier. That’s it, you’re going into timeout.’ Eskel’s says, his voice firm.

 

Carrying a screaming Jaskier to a corner of the kitchen, Eskel plops him down on the stone, facing the wall. Jaskier clings to Eskel’s shirt, but Eskel unhooks his fingers easily, holding his hands firmly by his sides and keeping Jaskier in place. Feeling like the whole world is against him, Jaskier wails as Eskel forces him to sit on his bottom, the thick diaper softening the landing. Letting him go and stepping back, a long strand of hair hangs over Eskel’s scar as he looks at Jaskier with disappointment.

 

It’s not fair and Jaskier lets everyone know as loudly as he can.

 

I want roast!

 

It’s not the first time he's thrown a tantrum at dinner time, though it is the first time he’s been put in time out over it. Vesemir watches the tantrum with mild amusement as he cuts Lambert’s food into smaller portions, Lambert dipping his bread roll straight into the tureen of gravy while no one is watching. The moment Eskel turns away, Jaskier scrambles to his feet, making a mad dash for the table. If he can just reach one potato, he’ll die happy. His Papa catches him around the wrist and pulls him back into the corner, plopping him straight back down on his bottom.

 

‘Enough, Jaskier. You’ll have ten minutes in time out and a smack, because we do not throw tantrums. Every time you leave this spot, I will start the timer again. Little boys who argue get their naughty bottoms spanked’

Notes:

I'm not sure how I got here, *sips tea*, but I like it.

All feedback and love is gratefully received.

Chapter 10: Little boys who Argue get their Naughty Bottoms Spanked

Notes:

I've decided I'm just going to keep writing this forever.

Warning for forced spanking, Lambert with crayons and a very sulky little Jaskier.

Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The struggle to keep Jaskier in time out continues for nearly half an hour, until Eskel’s dinner is cold and congealed on his plate.

 

Catching Jaskier by the arm once again, Eskel carries him, struggling and kicking, back to the corner. Unable to escape, Jaskier whinges, but he’s ignored and plopped straight back down onto his bottom on the hard, stone floor. His Papa doesn’t speak to him. None of them do. They ignore him, which is part of time out, he knows. He scowls at them all anyway. Pausing just a few feet away, Eskel turns, his yellow eyes watching determinedly as he waits for Jaskier to bolt again.

 

With a little huff, Jaskier finally concedes. Crossing his arms over his chest defiantly, he rocks back on his diaper and crosses his legs too, just for good measure. He’s hungry, and the struggle has left him tired and grumpy. Sniffling, he lowers his head so that he can wipe his nose on the back of his arm, his bottom lip sticking out, just a bit.

 

He’s not sulking.

 

The last dying rays of winter sun stream through the window, and Vesemir flicks on the overhead light, bringing the kitchen into sharp relief. Not having to chase Jaskier around the kitchen, Eskel starts the timer on his phone, then takes the opportunity to scoff down his lukewarm dinner, shovelling it in like a man half starved.

 

Geralt snorts a laugh, smoothing back a strand of Lambert’s hair as he grumbles. ‘Jaskier’s got quite the attitude, hasn’t he?’

 

‘You were worse, at that age.’ Vesemir says with a fond shake of the head as Eskel shoves another potato into his mouth, still watching Jaskier out of the corner of his eye. Jaskier perks his ears, listening. It’s always interesting to hear more about their past.

 

‘It’s why we have dinner early, because it’s never as simple as you want it to be.’ Vesemir continues, hands still in the dishwater of the sink. ‘I remember sitting up with you for hours, Geralt. You refused to try your peas, because you didn’t like the colour. You threw them on the floor, and so I made sure you knew why your bottom was a different colour. You were a very grumpy boy, but you ate your peas.’

 

Geralt goes a shade pinker, and Eskel chokes on a mouthful of food, Lambert collapsing into a fit of giggles under the table. Uncrossing his arms and reaching into his pocket, Jaskier pulls out his toy. Fiddling with Mr Wolfe’s soft, grey ears, he pretends he isn’t listening, just to give them a taste of their own medicine. Pulling Lambert up off the floor, Geralt puts him back in his seat, and Lambert responds by kicking his legs idly, and dragging his finger through a puddle of gravy still on the tabletop.

 

‘No Lamb-’ Geralt starts to wipe Lambert down, and Lambert makes a noise of indignation and squirms away. Catching Lambert’s arm, Geralt licks the gravy off his fingers before cleaning the mess off the table with a damp cloth. ‘Here, play with these. If I see anything rude I’m taking the crayons away.’

 

Vesemir snorts a laugh as Geralt sets Lambert up with some paper at the table, licking the gravy off his face before passing him the crayons. Still watching Geralt cautiously, like he’s going to be licked again, Lambert gets to work, upending the colourful box and sending crayons rolling everywhere. Taking a seat beside Lambert, Geralt catches several of the colourful crayons before they can roll off the table, supervising. This consists mostly of stopping Lambert from drawing on the table, and taking the crayon away when he starts to chew on the end.

 

When the little bell chines on Eskel’s phone to let them know Jaskier’s time is finally, finally up, he’s relieved. He’s really hungry now, and he’s cold, the stone floor not very nice against his bottom even with the diaper. Pushing aside his empty plate, which Vesemir collects to wash, Eskel comes to kneel in front of Jaskier, putting them almost at eye level. He takes one of Jaskier’s hands, his thumb idly stroking over the soft skin on the back of his hand and Jaskier sniffles and looks away.

 

‘You did very well, Jaskier. Thank you for staying in time out like a good little boy. Now, what do we say?

 

Jaskier knows what’s expected of him, from his last experience in time out. It doesn’t make saying it any easier, considering he still thinks he’s right, and the time out was unfair. Eskel waits patiently, and Jaskier cracks, sniffling.

 

‘I’m sorry, Papa.’ He mumbles to the floor, not quite ready to look at anyone yet.

 

Cupping Jaskier’s face, his Papa lifts his chin so that he has to make eye contact, then speaks again. ‘What are you sorry for, pup? You know you need to tell me.’

 

Jaskier frowns at his Papa, chewing his lip. He does know. The routine for him in Kaer Morhen is unyielding, from bedtime to tummy time, and time out is clearly no different. Cradling Mr Wolfe to his chest, Jaskier leans into the warmth of his Papa’s hand. No matter how mad he is, being warm is the best feeling in the world, and his Papa is always warm. Sitting up a little straighter, Jaskier meets his Papa’s eyes.

 

Eskel is a big, scary man. Even crouching, he’s almost a head taller than Jaskier, with shoulders so broad the fabric of his shirt strains to contain the mass of muscles. Sitting on the balls of his feet, Eskel waits patiently, thumb still idly stroking the back of Jaskier’s hand. Taking a deep breath, Jaskier cuddles Mr Wolfe for support and speaks more clearly.

 

‘Sorry for hitting, and for- for getting mad.’

 

When his Papa smiles, the line of scars across his face pull at his lip, but his face lights up. Golden eyes glow, emitting a warmth that makes Jaskier feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. Eskel’s rumbling voice is full of praise, and Jaskier tries hard not to cry all over again at the feeling of unadulterated love being directed at him. Wiping away his tears with the hand cupping his face, Eskel purrs.

 

Good boy, Jaskier. Papa is very proud of you, and I love you so much. Can I have a cuddle?’

 

With a shy nod, Jaskier throws himself into firm chest. His Papa is so very warm, and Jaskier burrows his face into Eskel’s shirt, breathing in the scent of wood-smoke and fabric softener as strong arms wrap around him, Mr Wolfe squished between them.

 

Maybe time out isn’t so bad after all. Not if he gets cuddles afterwards. Face still wet from tears, Jaskier snuggles into the warmth of the hug, wiping his tears on his Papa’s shirt. The praise and the love have made him feel a little floaty, and there’s a happiness in his belly that is difficult to explain. It feels nice. Eskel’s chest rumbles when he speaks, and Jaskier feels all the happiness fall out through his bottom.

 

‘Do you want your bottle or your punishment first, pup?’

 

Damn it. He’d forgotten about that part, and he still doesn’t want the bottle. Wringing the fabric of his Papa’s shirt between his fists, Jaskier lets out a quiet whine. He doesn’t want to let go, even if he doesn’t like either of those options.

 

Roast.’ He can actually hear the pout in his voice. It’s pathetic, and he burrows further into Eskel, hiding.

 

‘No baby, not for little tummies.’ Eskel says firmly but gently, wiping away another tear before lifting Jaskier easily into the air. As he’s lifted, Jaskier’s tummy grumbles, and Eskel chuckles. ‘Bottle first, I think. Can’t have my pup with an empty tummy, can we?’

 

Taking the kettle off the stove, Vesemir brings Eskel the bottle from beside the fire as he sits down heavily in the sturdy kitchen chair, Jaskier nestled in his lap. One arm wrapped securely around Jaskier’s waist, Eskel prods against Jaskier’s mouth with the teat.

 

‘Here we go, open up pup.’

 

Knowing a smack is already waiting in the wings for him, Jaskier doesn’t fight, giving the bottle a tentative suckle. The warm milk floods into his mouth. It’s- well, it’s actually pretty good, if he’s honest with himself. He can taste the honey, sweet and sticky against the creaminess of the milk, and his Papa has made it just the way he likes. It’s not roast, but it’s warm, and it is tasty; much nicer than the horrid bottle Vesemir made, anyway. Latching on properly, Jaskier leans back into his Papa’s chest and drinks.

 

‘There we go, good boy Jaskier.’ Eskel’s rumbling praise makes Jaskier shiver, and he nuzzles further into his Papa’s arms, enjoying the cuddle. ‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ His Papa says, pressing a gentle kiss behind his ear. The warm milk fills his belly, and his Papa rocks gently as Jaskier suckles on the bottle, tear stains dried on his face.

 

It is better, but he’ll never admit it.

 

‘Look Jask! I drew you!’ Lifting his drawing, Lambert waves it through the air so fast Jaskier finds it hard to focus on. It’s a little hard to make out, because of the movement, but it does have a certain likeness to the fox onesie Jaskier favours, red ears and long tail visible. Catching Lambert’s hand, Geralt stops him from flailing as Vesemir pours cups of steaming tea from the kettle into three mugs. Setting the kettle aside and lifting the pot off the stove, Vesemir pours a brown liquid into the last mug and takes a seat at the table beside Lambert. Without hesitation, Lambert scurries into his lap, red crayon still gripped firmly in his hand.

 

‘Oof. Gentle pup, I’m not as young as I used to be.’ Vesemir says, moving his tea aside so Lambert doesn’t knock it. ‘Can Geralt put your drawing on the fridge while you drink your hot chocolate?’

 

Lambert nods, reaching for the last mug.

 

‘Wait, let me help you. It’s hot, pup.’ Lifting the mug, Vesemir helps Lambert take a sip, and he lets out a happy chirrup and smacks his lips. Rumbling, Vesemir presses a kiss to the back of Lambert’s head. ‘Drink up, Lamb, it’s almost bedtime. Pull-ups tonight, I think.’

 

‘Nooo- I’m big!’ Lambert protests, and Vesemir gives him a light swat on the bottom.

 

‘You are, but I won’t have you having an accident in my bed again. Now, sip-’ Vesemir tips the mug, and Lambert’s Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks. Still curled into his Papa, Jaskier suckles on his bottle, the steady flow of milk slowly filling his empty tummy. Geralt tidies up the crayons, and adds milk and sugar to Eskel’s tea, keeping his own black, which, of course he drinks black tea. Holding the bottle in one hand, Eskel nods his thanks and sips his tea, Jaskier still leaning against his chest.

 

When Jaskier’s bottle is half empty, Lambert lets out a happy sigh and sets his empty mug down on the table, his yellow eyes drooping. Vesemir sets his half-finished mug of tea down and wraps both arms around Lambert.

 

‘Alright pup, say goodnight.’

 

Pouting, Lambert wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before jumping off Vesemir’s lap and trying to escape. ‘No- I’m not tired!’

 

‘Do you want a bath and a story?’ Vesemir’s voice is stern, and he catches Lambert with one hand, holding him by the elbow so that he can’t bound away.

 

‘Yes…’

 

‘Then say goodnight.’

 

Geralt is first, still painstakingly poking the crayons back into the box, one by one. Lambert nuzzles at his neck, and Geralt ruffles his hair before returning the gesture, nosing at the side of Lambert’s neck until the younger man decides he’s had enough and stalks away. Eskel is next, he props Jaskier into one arm so that he can pull Lambert into a hug. ‘Goodnight little Lamb. I love you.’

 

‘No, Esk- yucky.’ Lambert pulls a face and growls as Eskel plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek, pulling away.

Eskel chuckles as Lambert wrestles himself out of the hug. Jaskier is last, and he’s still sucking on his bottle as Lambert snuggles into him, kissing him gently on the cheek. ‘Goodnight Jask. We can play in the morning, Papa said so.’ He says, matter-of-factly, and from behind him Vesemir nods. Leaning in, Lambert wraps his arms around Jaskier’s neck. He’s so close that Jaskier can taste the roast and apple juice. The kiss under his ear tickles, and Jaskier giggles. Quietly, just a warm breath in Jaskier’s ear, Lambert whispers, ‘I love you.’

 

A small, cold piece of potato is pressed into Jaskier’s palm, and something stutters in his chest. Quickly tucking the small offering into his pocket, Jaskier turns away from the bottle to snuggle into Lambert’s arms, overwhelmed with gratitude and fondness. The stubble on Lambert’s cheek grazes his face, the smell of leather and something just a little softer clinging to him as Jaskier cuddles into him. Pressed between his Papa and Lambert, with his little piece of roast potato safely in his pocket, Jaskier mewls his happiness. It’s over much too soon, and Lambert is lifted away, Vesemir hoisting him to his chest. Shifting Lambert onto one hip, Vesemir reaches down to ruffle Jaskier’s hair with his free hand before looking at Eskel.

 

‘Don’t keep him up too long, I won’t have any grumpy pups tomorrow. I’ve got a big day planned for them while you and Geralt patch that south wall.’

 

Rumbling his agreement, Eskel latches Jaskier back onto the bottle as Lambert is carried out of the kitchen. This leaves Jaskier alone with Geralt and his Papa, and Jaskier can feel his eyelids drooping. The bottle is finished much too soon, and Eskel tugs it away so that Jaskier can be burped.

 

It wasn’t roast, but Jaskier is feeling much better, the warm milk filling his belly. Yawning widely, he rubs one eye with a bawled fist. The sun is very much setting outside the kitchen window now, glowing pinks and purples littering the horizon, and he knows it’s nearly bed time. After dinner comes a change, a story and a quick cuddle with his Papa before bed. He doesn’t like being changed, but everything else is nice.

 

He rather enjoys the routines, it helps him to feel safe and secure, knowing what comes next. There was never a routine, living on the streets. Sleep was hard to come-by, the nights cold and alleys dangerous. Food was scarce, and it was never guaranteed that Jaskier would be able to find something to eat in a whole day, let alone breakfast, lunch and dinner. He loved his afternoon naps too, and feeling full while his Papa rubbed his belly was wonderful. Over the course of the week, he’d not once missed a meal. He’d never been starved for being bad, they hadn’t hit him for talking back (though he still didn’t like time out very much) and they didn’t yell at him or take his things away when he misbehaved. Though he would never admit it, he kind of enjoying being little. Having toys, cuddles, kisses, his own paci and a routine, with no responsibilities, it was good.

 

Mostly.

 

As his Papa starts to unbutton his romper, pulling the straps down his shoulders, Jaskier squirms, panicking. If they take away his clothes, they’ll be washed, and he won’t get another chance-

 

As Eskel fumbles with his buttons, Jaskier grabs the small piece of golden, slightly squashed potato, the oil a little slimy in his hand. Taking a chance as his Papa’s attention is elsewhere, Jaskier shoves it into his mouth, chewing excitedly. It’s- well, it’s cold and a little slimy, but it tastes like roast potato, salty and delicious. Savouring it as long as he dares, trying to look innocent, Jaskier swallows.

 

‘Jaskier, what was that?’ Eskel says sharply, abandoning the buttons to reach for Jaskier’s mouth. ‘Open your mouth, pup.’

 

Large fingers prod his tongue and cheeks as Eskel looks into Jaskier’s mouth, searching for the long gone roast potato. With a huff, Eskel lets him go, and Jaskier preens like he’s gotten away with murder. Oh he’s going to give Lambert all the kisses later. Pulling out a chair, Geralt drags it over to the fireside, and sits heavily, patting his knee and all Jaskier’s joy flies right out the window.

 

‘Over my knee pup, naughty boys get their bottoms spanked before bed.’

 

Wrestled out of his romper- and Jaskier does put up a good fight, considering how tired he is- he’s handed to Geralt. Geralt’s knee is solid underneath him, digging uncomfortably into his full bladder, the calloused hand rough against the bare skin of Jaskier’s back. The hand is a warm, firm weight between Jaskier’s shoulder blades, holding him steady. Jaskier whines at his Papa, who’s leaning on the fridge. Eskel frowns, a look of pity and disapproval, and Jaskier turns away, burying his face into Geralt’s leg so that he doesn’t have to see the look of disappointment. His diaper is tugged down, and a shiver races up Jaskier’s spine, his exposed bottom bared to Geralt. Shuffled footsteps tell Jaskier that his Papa has left the kitchen, and he sobs quietly into Geralt’s trousers.

 

‘I’m sorry- please don’t- I don’t want-.’

 

‘Shh, pup. You’re okay.’ Geralt’s rumbling voice is low, soothing, and Jaskier chokes back a hiccup as Geralt rubs gentle circles across his back. ‘Daddy’s got you. You’re safe, Jaskier, I promise, but you need to learn not to misbehave, and a sore bottom will remind you to listen to your Papa.’

 

Pausing, Geralt’s hand leaves Jaskier’s skin, and he tenses. Geralt hushes him again, patting his bare bottom lightly. ‘Just relax, baby. It will be over soon. Daddy’s going to give you ten smacks to your bottom, for having a tantrum at dinner. Now, take a breath pup.’

 

The first smack stings, sharp and biting across the bare skin of his bottom. With a loud yelp, Jaskier squirms in Geralt’s lap, the sting fading to a dull, deep ache almost immediately. The movement makes his bladder ache, and tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. Biting the inside of his cheek, Jaskier tries to stay still. The second strike is worse. It hurts, the resounding smack echoing through the small kitchen. As Geralt raises his hand to strike a third time, Jaskier can’t help the tears that streak down his face, hot on his cheeks. When the strike lands, a cry escapes him. The fourth and fifth strike have him bawling into Geralt’s leg, the sting biting across his backside, a small puddle of drool forming on Geralt’s trousers as he buries his face into the fabric. The ache settles into his bones and he feels his limbs growing heavy, his mind slowing.

 

He can feel the heat blooming across his skin, Geralt’s forceful strikes careful and measured to inflict pain, but not injure him. Biting back another wave of sobs, Jaskier regrets throwing a tantrum. He’s sorry, he’s so so sorry he misbehaved. Clutching desperately at the fabric of Geralt’s trousers, he gurgles, incapable of forming any words in this moment. A gentle hand rests on his bottom, soothing the throbbing, just a little. Geralt’s voice rings out, deep and far away, a rumbling echo through Jaskier’s clouded mind.

 

‘One more pup, you’re doing so well.’

 

He’s doing well. He’s a good boy.

 

Whimpering and sobbing, Jaskier relaxes a just a little into his the warmth of the lap. The last smack is just as sharp as the first, a large wet stain of tears, saliva and maybe just a little snot from Jaskier’s running nose as he bawls his heart out into Geralt’s leg.

 

‘Shh, baby. It’s okay, you did so well.’

 

A rough hand runs carefully over his heated skin, and Jaskier sobs as his diaper is pulled up around his hips, covering his bottom. His limbs are heavy, his mind slow, and he’s feeling small and very vulnerable, his backside hot and hurting. Jaskier is pulled upright, Geralt careful not to put pressure on Jaskier’s sore bottom as he tucks him firmly into a cuddle. Soothing circles are rubbed over Jaskier’s upper back, the warmth of Geralt’s hand comforting, and the weight reassuring. Geralt makes a quiet shushing noise, holding Jaskier tightly against his chest. The steady rhythm of Geralt’s heartbeat is calming, and Jaskier nuzzles closer, still sucking in heaving sobs as the pain radiates across his bottom. Crying into the shirt, Jaskier’s fingers wind into the fabric, and he clings to Geralt with everything he has.

 

‘I know pup, Daddy’s got you.’

Notes:

The comments on the last chapter were absolute gold, I swear. Loving the love guys!

Chapter 11: Daddy's Snuggle-bug

Notes:

Geralt and Eskel discuss Jaskier's childhood. A little bit of comfort as Jaskier recovers from his spanking.

 

I edited this about 8 times. If you find a mistake, I don't want to know about it.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Shoulders shaking with heaving sobs, Jaskier leans into Geralt, bawling into the broad chest. A calloused thumb strokes across Jaskier’s cheek, and Geralt wipes away the tears clinging to his lashes. His bottom hurts, and he leans into the touch, desperate for the comfort. Sticking his thumb into his mouth, he grabs Geralt’s shirt with his other hand and burrows into the fabric. Geralt smells like forest and wood-smoke, and Jaskier presses into the warmth.

 

‘Hey pup, you’re okay. Take a deep breath, it’s over now, Daddy’s got you. You did so well.’

 

He feels a larger hand encompass his own, and his thumb is pulled out of his mouth with a ‘pop’. Still holding Jaskier’s hand with his own, and squeezing reassuringly, Geralt runs his other hand up and down Jaskier’s bare back in slow, soothing motions. Soon Jaskier’s heaving sobs become small, wet hiccups; his breathing slows considerably, and he slumps into Geralt, his mind calm and quiet and his limbs heavy.

 

Lifting Jaskier’s hand, Geralt considers it carefully before kissing the back of it. ‘Oh, my sweet boy.’

 

Snuggling just a little closer, Jaskier tucks himself into the curve of Geralt’s throat, the top of his head pressed under Geralt’s chin. Letting his hand drop, Geralt wraps both arms around him, nuzzling into his hair. Everything is too much, the pain, the comfort, the emotions, and Jaskier puts the thumb straight back into his mouth. One of Geralt’s hands comes to rest under his sore bottom, the other behind his head, tucking him close as he stands up, lifting Jaskier with him.

 

Closing his eyes, and swapping out his thumb for a piece of Geralt’s shirt, Jaskier suckles on the fabric as he’s carried across the keep. His mind drifts, and if it weren’t for the strong hands keeping him steady, he might float away. A cold breeze makes him shiver, and the arms around him tighten. As he’s carried into the bedroom, the warmth returns, the gentle crackle of the fire in the hearth thawing the air. The shirt is gently pulled from his mouth, and he fusses.

 

‘Here we go, pup. I know, lets get you nice and comfortable.’

 

The bed, while much softer than his crib, is cold, and Jaskier cries, clinging to Geralt’s shirt. He doesn’t want to be put down. He wants Geralt to cuddle him. His pacifier is quickly pressed into his mouth, quietening his cries, and Geralt carefully untangles Jaskier’s fingers from the fabric of his shirt, replacing it with something softer. Jaskier settles into the fluffy pillows on the bed, cuddling into his toy and suckling on the pacifier. Still feeling slightly like he’s inside of a marshmallow, and refusing to open his eyes, Jaskier nuzzles against Mr Wolfe, placated and sleepy.

 

‘Oh look at that. He’s so sweet.’ Jaskier chirrups and opens his eyes as his Papa’s rumbling voice purrs above him. ‘So good for Daddy.’ Eskel says, beaming down at him. The mattress dips as Eskel leans down, stroking Jaskier’s cheek and running a hand through his hair. Leaning into the touch, Jaskier nuzzles into his Papa’s hand. Still purring and stroking his face, Eskel turns to Geralt. ‘Thanks for taking him, I don’t like it, and I hate seeing him cry, but I can’t have him throwing a tantrum every night at dinner.’

 

’I was hoping he’d settle on his own at dinner time, but we gave it a week, and that was the worst tantrum yet. Little menace.’ Geralt says with a smile, flicking through the stack of picture books on the dresser and choosing one. ‘He was so cuddly afterwards, though. Daddy’s little snuggle-bug.’

 

Even through his haze, Jaskier manages to glare at Geralt.

 

‘My poor little pup, he looks so exhausted.’ Eskel says, climbing off the bed with a groan. ‘I’m glad we decided to have him with us tonight, it’s going to be hard enough for him.’ Eskel says knowingly, crossing the room to lick the underside of Geralt’s chin.

 

Jaskier feels very much like he’s missed an important conversation. Again.

 

Geralt sets the book down on the side table and pulls Eskel into a proper embrace. Rubbing their noses together, a happy rumble fills the bedroom as they lick and nip and each other fondly. It’s incredibly affectionate, gentle touches, soft kisses and kitten licks, and Jaskier watches, eyes drooping, from his position on the bed.

 

‘Our little one is falling asleep without us.’ Eskel says, mouthing against Geralt’s neck, canines gently scraping over the skin.

 

‘I’ve picked a short story tonight, I don’t think he’ll manage a longer one.’ Geralt says, casting a quick look at Jaskier as he and Eskel finally break apart. ‘Are you nice and comfortable on Daddy’s bed Jaskier? Would you like a story?’

 

Jaskier doesn’t answer.

 

The mattress dips as Geralt climbs onto the bed. Tugging off his shirt, Geralt tosses it aside before gently lifting Jaskier off his mountain of pillows. Eskel keeps his shirt on, but joins them, cuddling up to Jaskier’s back.

 

‘Come here pup, you get comfortable on Daddy.’ Geralt says, lifting Jaskier’s head to rest in the crook of his arm, careful of his neck as Eskel adjusts the pillows behind him. Jaskier makes a small noise of disgruntlement as he’s moved, but he settles quickly, more than happy with his new position against Geralt’s warm skin.

 

‘I saw the scars, on the back of his hand today. I know you warned me, but-’ Geralt says quietly, shaking his head. Taking Jaskier’s hand, Geralt’s thumb strokes over the little white whip marks etched into the skin. Warm lips press a kiss to the marked skin as Geralt kisses him again. ‘Vesemir’s got a book on childhood trauma in the library, from when Lambert was really struggling. I’ll ask if he can bring it down for us, and I might have a dig through Lambert’s books too, there might be some that Jaskier would find comforting.’

 

They have a library? Oh he has to see that. He used to be an avid reader, back before he ran away from home. Books were something of an escape for him, getting lost in the beautiful story, pretending he was someone else, and Lettenhove had a wonderful library. It was Jaskier's favourite place to hide, in amongst the towering shelves full of worlds far better than his own.

 

He would very much like to see Vesemir’s library.

 

‘Good idea, wolf.’ Eskel says, stroking through Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier looks from Geralt to his Papa, blinking slowly, his limbs still heavy as they discuss him like he can’t understand them. ‘I don’t like to think about where he would be if you didn’t bring him home to me. He was so thin-’

 

Jaskier doesn’t like to think about it, either, which- well, that’s a whole other problem that he doesn’t have the energy for right now. He remembers being so hungry it hurt, and so cold he couldn’t sleep. It was scary, and dangerous, and he doesn't miss it at all. He snuggles closer to Geralt’s warmth, wriggling his hips a little to fit more comfortably against Eskel. A quiet whine escapes him as he shifts his bottom, and Geralt soothes over his back, large hand lowering to rest on Jaskier’s diaper, patting very, very gently.

 

‘The bottles are really helping, he's looking so much better already. But if I ever meet the bastards who-’ Geralt stops, shaking his head and taking a shuddering breath before continuing. ‘Sorry. I- sorry. I couldn’t think of anyone better to raise him than you, Esk.’

 

Eskel and Geralt entwine their fingers together, resting their hands on Jaskier’s side. The combined weight of their touch is comforting, and the rumbling purring starts all over again.

 

‘Thank you. And I know, wolf. He's safe now. I won't ever let them near him again.’ Eskel says, his voice a low growl behind Jaskier’s ear. ‘Here, pass me the blanket, I’ll tuck him in, you read the story.’

 

As Eskel spreads the blanket over the three of them, Jaskier mewls, the heat from the warm bodies on either side of him like sinking into a warm bath. In just his diaper, tucked in the big bed, he’s still feeling incredibly small, but the touch of Geralt’s skin is bliss and he snuggles closer, the pacifying weight of his Papa at his back.

 

Holding the book with one hand, the other still gently patting Jaskier’s bottom, Geralt starts to read.

 

Guess How Much I Love You.’

 

Listening to the rumbling growl of Geralt’s voice, fluctuating as he imitates the little rabbit from the picture book, Jaskier can feel his Papa’s chest rising and falling against his back, warm and reassuring, and he closes his eyes, content.

Notes:

You guys made me choke on my tea. Some of those comments, I swear to glob. -Thank you!-

Chapter 12: The Accident

Notes:

Jaskier spends his first night in Daddy's bed.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

In the middle of the night, Jaskier startles awake with a cry.

 

Remnants of the nightmare fade quickly, but his rabbiting heartbeat doesn’t go unnoticed.

 

Through the darkness, Eskel’s soft snores can be heard, but Geralt stirs. Pushing aside a tangle of sheets, Geralt wraps an arm around him, tucking Jaskier against the warmth of his body. Nosing the top of his head, Geralt soothes over Jaskier’s back with a calloused hand, nuzzling into his hair.

 

‘Shh, baby, you're safe. Daddy’s got you.’

 

Jaskier whimpers, and Geralt hushes him again, pulling him closer. The familiar weight of his pacifier is pressed to his lips, and Jaskier takes it, sucking on the soft rubber as Geralt pets over his hair. With one arm, Geralt rummages around the bed, and Jaskier is handed something soft.

 

Trying very hard not to burst into tears, Jaskier inhales the scent of Mr Wolfe, his hands shaking as he clutches the toy tightly.

 

He's safe.

 

‘Easy, pup, you had a nightmare.'

 

Lifting Jaskier carefully, Geralt lays him gently on his chest. The heat of his skin is comforting, and Jaskier lets out a shaky breath.

 

'Daddy has them too, sometimes.' Geralt says quietly. 'You’re safe now.’

 

Nestling into Geralt’s bare chest, Mr Wolfe safe and whole in his arms, Jaskier takes a few deep breaths. He tries to remember the last time he had a nightmare as bad as this one. A few months, at least. The longer he’s away from Lettenhove, the less frequently the nightmares occur.

 

In the dream, Jaskier had been hiding. The underside of the bed was dusty, and it was hard to breathe. The yelling was getting louder, and Jaskier clutched Pogo as tightly as he could, his small fists twisting around the bunny’s soft pink ears. Something grabbed Jaskier around the ankle, too tightly, and he was hoisted into the air, Pogo ripped away.

 

Jaskier screamed, his father yelled, and Pogo burned.

 

Curling impossibly closer to Geralt, and twisting Mr Wolfe’s ears under his fingers, Jaskier sobs.

 

'Just a dream, pup. You're okay.'

 

Geralt soothes him, pulling the blanket over them both.

 

Not just a dream. 

 

Having Mr Wolfe is helping, and as Geralt continues to cradle Jaskier’s head, his other hand trailing down his back, he lets out another shaky breath. Geralt’s heartbeat is steady and strong, his skin warm and his touch comforting. When Geralt begins to pat his bottom, slow and steady, Jaskier finally starts to settle, his rapid breathing slowing.

 

‘Go back to sleep, little one, Daddy’s got you.’

 

The gentle rhythm of petting and Geralt's heartbeat lull him back to sleep.

 

When he wakes for a second time, the morning is bright and the fire has died. Sunlight reflects off the dirty windows and pools at the foot of the bed.

 

Jaskier grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and burrowing further into the bed, his nightmare forgotten. He’s never been a morning person.

 

Snuggling back into Eskel, Jaskier is fully intent on going back to sleep until the mattress dips, and something climbs onto the bed, the blankets rustling. Without further warning, the bed jerks, and an excited giggle causes Jaskier to whine, Geralt to jolt awake and Eskel to open one bleary eye, looking for the source of the disturbance.

 

‘Lamb- It’s too early.’ Geralt says, his voice groggy with sleep. ‘Stop jumping on the bed.’

 

Eskel lets out a soft ‘oof-’, throwing his arm protectively over Jaskier as Lambert bounces on them again.

 

Nuh uh. It’s morning!’ Lambert says, far too loudly as he disregards Geralt completely and jumps on the bed again. ‘It’s daylight and everything!’

 

‘Careful Lamb, Jaskier’s in here.’ Eskel says, and Jaskier whinges for emphasis. One hand tugs Jaskier closer, away from danger, and he squeals as something incredibly hard, hot and goddamn huge pokes him in the small of his back.

 

Lord have mercy.

 

‘Oops, sorry pup.’ Eskel apologises, shuffling back. 

 

‘Jask! Lambert chirps, oblivious to the fact that Jaskier was nearly skewered on something the size of his arm.

 

Tugging on the blankets to reveal a slightly dishevelled looking Jaskier, Lambert grins. ‘Good morning sleepyhead!’

 

Lambert’s still wearing pyjamas, dark trousers and a matching top, covered in spaceships and planets. His hair is tousled, beard scruffy, and he smells a little like the soap Vesemir uses. Sitting up, Geralt runs a hand over tired looking eyes as Lambert crawls over Eskel, making a beeline for Jaskier. 

 

Suddenly, Lambert pulls back, and Jaskier’s heart sinks when he sees the wrinkled nose.

 

‘Uhh, I think someone went potty last night.’ Lambert says quietly to Eskel, twisting his pyjama shirt between his fingers. 

 

Jaskier freezes.

 

He didn’t.

 

Oh god. He did.

 

Properly awake now, Jaskier can feel the wetness of the diaper, a cool dampness between his legs. A thick wave of shame washes over him, and he tries to hide back under the blankets, mortified. The evidence of his accident is obvious, now that his sleep addled brain has registered it; the diaper squelches as he moves. Thankfully, it hasn’t leaked through, but still-

 

He wet the bed.

 

‘It’s nothing to be ashamed about.’ Eskel says kindly, sitting up and scenting the air as Jaskier blushes furiously.

 

He still isn’t used to the fact that they can all smell everything.

 

Jaskier can feel his bottom lip trembling, shame pooling deep in his belly. Seeing his distress, Geralt grabs Lambert around the waist, pulling him off Jaskier with a low warning growl. Growling back, Lambert wriggles away and begins bouncing defiantly on one corner of the bed, glaring at Geralt.

 

‘Papa is so proud of you, Jaskier.’ Eskel praises, interrupting the animalistic squabbling to scoop Jaskier out of the tangled blankets. ‘Such a good boy.’

 

Jaskier is conflicted. The praise is good- it always is- but he wet himself, like a baby. Geralt and Eskel don’t seem to mind, in fact, his Papa seems thrilled, fussing over him like he’s done something amazing, and not something awful. Geralt seems indifferent, trying and failing to get Lambert to stop pouncing on the bed. Sniffling, Jaskier tries to hang onto the blanket, wanting to hide his shame, but his Papa tugs it away, exposing him.

 

Lacking a blanket, Jaskier curls inward, hiding his face in his Papa’s shirt.

 

‘Jaskier had a nightmare last night.’ Geralt explains as Jaskier headbutts Eskel's chest repeatedly. ‘He was crying in his sleep.’

 

Another hot wave of shame washes over him, and he burrows under his Papa’s shirt, not wanting to look at anyone. This morning couldn’t get any worse.

 

‘No wonder he’s upset.’ Eskel hums, petting Jaskier reassuringly on the back as he hides under the shirt. Eskel is hairier than Geralt, and the dark curls tickle Jaskier’s nose.

 

This is not how he wanted his morning to go.

 

Pulling Jaskier out of the tangle of fabric, Eskel lifts him into the air. Jaskier’s legs curl inwards as he’s lifted, Eskel’s hands tucked under his armpits. ‘Alright pup, come here. Lets get you into a clean diaper. And I think Lambert needs one too.’

 

Jaskier nods at the floor, refusing to look at anyone.

 

I do not.’ Lambert whines, and the bed shakes as the jumping starts up again.

 

Eskel bundles Jaskier to his chest, and Jaskier buries his face straight back into the shirt. If he never has to look at any of them again, it will be too soon. There’s a loud thump from behind him, and Lambert starts to cry.

 

‘Oh Lamb.’ Eskel sighs, looking exasperatedly over Jaskier’s shoulder. ‘You know why we don’t jump on the bed. Geralt-’

 

‘I know, I got him.’ Geralt grumbles. Rolling out of bed, Geralt lifts a shrieking Lambert off the floor and to his chest, and Jaskier watches as Geralt checks his head for bumps. The movement lifts Lambert’s shirt, just a little, and Jaskier can see the hem of a pull-up protruding from his pyjama pants.

 

‘You’re okay Lamb, it’s just a little bump.’ Geralt says, rubbing a spot on the back of Lambert’s head. ‘Oh, you are a very wet little pup, aren’t you?’ Geralt sighs as Lambert squirms in his arms. ‘Come on, lets go find Papa Ves, he can kiss it better and get you changed.’

 

Sniffling, Lambert stops trying to tug on Geralt’s hair and gives a small nod. Giving Eskel an apologetic look, Geralt carries Lambert out of the bedroom. 

 

The pacifier is slipped between Jaskier's teeth, and he is carried to the change table. As Eskel lifts his hips, pulling away the wet diaper, the cool air of the morning hits him squarely, and he grumbles. Eskel tickles his belly, and Jaskier frowns at him, until-

 

‘I think somebody deserves a little porridge for breakfast.’

 

He might be that somebody. Somebody that fucking loves porridge.

 

He waits patiently as he's wiped down- not licked, thank goodness- but the cold diaper-rash cream makes him squirm. He kicks out a leg as the salve is slathered over his groin. When a toughened thumb circles his sensitive slit, Jaskier keens. He tries to touch, but Eskel catches his hands and pins them together on his chest, holding them out of the way. 

 

‘Don't touch pup, just let Papa finish.’

 

Collecting more salve, Eskel nudges Jaskier's legs apart. Jaskier whines as the tip of Eskel’s finger rubs firmly, but doesn't breach him.

 

‘There we go.’ Eskel purrs, pulling away much too soon and leaving Jaskier frustrated. ‘Now, just a little salve for these bruises, and we’ll be all done!’

 

The healing salve does make the bruises feel better, even if he is now achingly hard. Snuggling into Mr Wolfe as Eskel lifts his hips for a second time, Jaskier huffs as a dry diaper is tucked under his bottom and secured around his waist, pinning his throbbing length to his stomach. He doesn’t fight.

 

He won't risk his chance at a proper breakfast.

 

Dressed as a wolf, the big swishy tail matching Mr Wolfe’s, his Papa takes his pacifier so that he can brush Jaskier’s teeth. The weird paste tastes more like chalk than mint. His face is washed (licked) and to his absolute dismay the mitts are fastened over his hands, trapping his fingers inside. Pouting, Jaskier tugs at the straps, to no avail.

 

Fussing only gets the pacifier pressed back into his mouth, and he sucks on it, still a little annoyed but slightly placated with the idea that there’s porridge waiting downstairs. The hallway outside the bedroom is cold, and another patch of stone has crumbled away in the night, a sliver of sunlight visible through the gap. His Papa sighs, stepping over the mess of debris littering the floor.

 

‘Your Daddy and I have a lot of repairs to do today, little one. I’m afraid you’ve been keeping us much too busy, and this place needs caring for too, crumbling old ruin that it is.’

 

As another stone tumbles down the wall, skittering across the floor, Jaskier thinks it might be better to just knock the whole place down and start again. He's not looking forward to spending the day away from Eskel, but he can't deny the place does need a little TLC.

 

The kitchen is warm, the fire burning brightly in the small hearth as usual. A large pot of thick, creamy porridge bubbles over the heat, filling the kitchen with the delicious scent of oats and cinnamon. Vesemir is dressed in warm but sensible clothes, a thick vest almost as ugly as his reindeer sweater barely hiding the potbelly underneath, spoon gently clinking against the side of the pot as he stirs the porridge.

 

Sunlight from the small window above the kitchen sink illuminates all of Slimy’s travels during the night. He’s travelled quite far for a snail, Jaskier thinks; the tracks lead all the way down the front of the cupboard, onto a shelf, around a pot of jam, and then back up to the mint pot.

 

Already sitting in a chair, Lambert is dressed in overalls, banging his spoon enthusiastically on the table as he babbles about his morning. Geralt sits beside him, still not wearing a shirt, nodding along and trying to wrestle the utensil away from him without much luck. Plopped down in his highchair, Jaskier whines as his Papa takes his pacifier, putting it down on the table as he fastens the straps over Jaskier’s lap.

 

‘I know pup, hang on.’

 

Jaskier makes grabby hands at the steaming bowl as Vesemir carries it to the table, reaching for it the moment it's put down.

 

Laughing, Eskel moves the bowl back a little, so that Jaskier can’t stick his fingers into it. Drooling, Jaskier watches as Eskel adds milk and a little bit of honey before stirring it together and testing the temperature. Leaving Lambert to play with the spoon, Geralt fastens a clean bib around Jaskier’s front, which is difficult. Bouncing in his chair, Jaskier is much too excited to sit still. There's a bowl of porridge with his name on it. Bib secured, Geralt returns to Lambert, and Jaskier opens his mouth in anticipation, leaning forward eagerly as Eskel blows on the breakfast to cool it down.

 

Vesemir grunts, and puts a small jug of something down on the table.

 

‘Don’t forget this. I’m not having a repeat of your bad behaviour, Eskel, just because he’s eating from a spoon. I had to milk Lambert for it, and I don’t want it wasted.’

 

Nodding once, Eskel pours the thick, white substance over the top of the porridge, and Jaskier’s jaw snaps shut with a click. Eskel stirs the concoction and offers Jaskier a spoonful, smiling.

 

Oh god why-

 

‘Open up, pup.’

 

Jaskier hesitates.

 

Feeling conflicted, he decides to pretend that he didn’t just see his Papa add that to his breakfast. Closing his eyes and opening his mouth tentatively, he flinches a little when the spoon touches his tongue. It’s thick, and creamy and- and-

 

Sucking down the porridge so fast he nearly chokes on it, he lets out a happy trill.

 

Oh, it’s good. It’s so good. The honey disguises the bitter saltiness entirely. If anything, the salt adds to the flavour of the porridge.

 

‘Easy pup,’ Eskel says, pulling the spoon back with a lewd ‘pop’ as Jaskier sucks on it hungrily. ‘Oh you like that, don’t you baby?’

 

Opening his eyes, Jaskier trills again and reaches for more.

 

‘Careful, Esk, he’ll eat the spoon if you don’t hold it tightly.’ Geralt warns with a laugh, filling a bowl for Lambert and adding a generous amount of milk to cool it down, turning back to get his own bowl from Vesemir.

 

‘I want honey.’ Lambert says, reaching for the jar and knocking it over in the two seconds it takes Geralt to return to the table. The sticky mess spreads quickly, and Lambert watches it with wide eyes. ‘Oops.’

 

Vesemir looks less than impressed.

 

Lamb.’ Vesemir sighs, passing Geralt a wet cloth from the sink. Geralt begins the arduous task of cleaning the tabletop as Vesemir digs through a cupboard, searching for something. 

 

‘No- I don’t need that- I’m big!’ Lambert protests, squirming away as Vesemir approaches, blue and white bib in hand. It’s similar to Jaskier’s bib, but it has a dinosaur on the front, instead of a duck.

 

‘Was it somebody else who needed changing this morning, was it?’ Vesemir asks, and Lambert grumbles at him. Clasping the bib securely around his neck, Vesemir chuckles and drizzles a small amount of honey on Lambert’s porridge. Passing him the bowl, Vesemir ruffles his hair. ‘Try not to make a mess.’

 

Lambert digs into his breakfast, immediately spilling a glob of porridge onto his bib.

 

Making a disgruntled noise of impatience, Jaskier bounces on his diaper again, reaching for the spoon in Eskel’s hand. Much too slowly for Jaskier’s liking- seriously, he’s starving- Eskel dips the spoon back into the porridge and refills it before raising it carefully to Jaskier’s mouth.

 

He sucks down the next mouthful just as fast, the warm, delicious porridge the best thing in the whole world.

 

‘He’s got a healthy appetite.’ Vesemir says approvingly, nodding in Jaskier’s direction. ‘I might try him on some mashed pumpkin after his bottle this afternoon.’

 

Jaskier chirrups, and accidentally spills porridge onto his own bib. Scooping up the spill with the spoon, Eskel feeds it back to him. It’s still good.

 

‘I think he’d like that.’ Eskel says, canines protruding over his lip as he smiles, Jaskier gurgling happily around a mouthful of porridge. There's a splat, and Jaskier looks up to see Lambert peering down at the mess he's made on the floor, before shrugging and returning to shovelling the food into his mouth at high speed. Geralt sighs, and pulls Lambert's bowl away from the edge of the table. Lambert growls as his food is touched. 

 

‘Easy Lamb, just slow down a bit. Not so fast.’

 

‘I want Lambert down for another day at least,’ Vesemir says, helping himself to a bowl and watching as Geralt ducks to clean the mess under Lambert’s chair. ‘Then he can help with the chores, before this place collapses around our ears. Geralt, watch him! Lambert- no! No more honey.’

 

Snarling, Lambert bares his teeth at Vesemir. Clipping Lambert over the ear, Vesemir takes the sticky jar away, putting it on a shelf out of reach. 

 

Lambert rubs his ear, eyes narrowed at Vesemir.

 

‘You know the rules, ask for help, and no biting.' Vesemir says sternly. Returning to the table, sans jar of honey, Vesemir strokes through Lambert’s hair, his expression softening. Pointing a finger at Lambert’s half eaten bowl, he continues, ‘I need your help today, Lamb, so finish your porridge. If you’re still hungry after breakfast there’s half a bottle in the fridge that you can have. You can sit on my lap.’

 

Lambert calms considerably and lets out a soft noise of contentment, leaning into Vesemir’s touch.

 

Geralt watches the interaction with interest, his yellow eyes focused. ‘Ves, do you happen to know where that book on treating pups with trauma went? I want to have a read through it if I can. I think you were right, about Jaskier- He had a nightmare last night, and I want to make sure we’re doing the right things for him.’

 

‘Of course I was right.’ Vesemir snorts, not unkindly, as he wipes over Lambert’s sticky fingers and takes his empty bowl away. ‘I do, but I don’t want the pups in the library, it’s too dangerous. I’ll bring it down when you’ve finished the repairs.’

 

Once he realises that they aren’t going to talk about where the library is, Jaskier goes back to whinging at Eskel for more porridge.

 

The bowl is empty much too soon, and the dishes are tidied away, Lambert losing his spoon under the fridge in his eagerness to help clear the table. Feeling extremely content, Jaskier is de-bibbed and wiped down. He yawns widely as Eskel lifts him out of the chair, feeling heavy and very well fed. He may have eaten a little too much.

 

The fire is burning brightly in the hall, and Jaskier admires the wolves tenacity for chopping firewood. The smell of burning pine fills the room, and while it’s not as warm as the kitchen, it’s not unpleasant. The rug has been freshly cleaned and brushed, and it’s fluffy and warm against Jaskier’s back. Staring up at the ceiling of the hall and watching one of the chandeliers swaying slightly, Jaskier winces when Eskel rubs his distended tummy, rumbling approvingly.

 

‘Is your belly nice and full pup? Did you enjoy your porridge?’ Eskel purrs, smiling. ‘You were far too thin when Daddy found you.’

 

Jaskier happens to agree.

 

‘I’ve never seen such a sickly pup.’ Vesemir says, following them into the hall with a bottle in one hand, Lambert in the other. Sitting at the long hall table, Vesemir pats his knee and Lambert clambers up, nestling into Vesemir as he latches onto the bottle being held for him. Tucking Lambert into his chest, Vesemir rubs circles over his back as Lambert drinks with enthusiasm. He looks back to where Jaskier is enjoying his belly rubs and nods, approvingly. ‘The regular feedings have really made a difference.’

 

Jaskier scowls, he wouldn’t call the bottles food, but he will admit he’s looking quite a bit healthier than when he arrived. He has more energy, too, although that might have something to do with his regular napping schedule. Afternoon naps are amazing. He's distracted from his trail of thoughts when Eskel presses a sloppy wet kiss to the side of his face.

 

‘Be a good boy for Grandpa Ves today, Jaskier. Daddy and I will be back as soon as we can.’ Smoothing over Jaskier’s hair, Eskel straightens up to look at Vesemir. ‘There’s a clean change of clothes in the diaper bag, just in case he makes a mess, and I’ve got his diaper cream in there too. Don’t let him eat any dirt, and please don’t let him get wet outside, it’s really cold out today and I don’t want-’

 

Raising a hand, Vesemir stops Eskel mid-sentence.

 

‘I know how to raise pups, Eskel. They’re going to help me plant radishes in the garden, then they’ll have a bath, lunch and their naps.’ Vesemir says as Lambert drains the last of his bottle, letting out a contented huff. 'If they behave I have some stickers they can have.'

 

Jaskier likes stickers. And radishes. And baths. Naps are also pretty good.

 

Maybe a day without his Papa won't be so horrible, after all. 

 

Eskel looks placated, knowing the schedule of the day, but he kisses Jaskier again anyway, sniffing at his hair like he's trying to commit the scent to memory. Geralt reappears in the hall, fully dressed and looking more than ready to start the day.

 

‘The wall isn't going to repair itself, Eskel.' Vesemir says, a little less patiently. 'Go, the pup will be fine with me. We’re going to have a good day, aren’t we boys?’

Notes:

There, I fed him.

Chapter 13: Jaskier Learns to Share

Notes:

Jaskier and Lambert have a lovely time in the garden with Papa Vesemir, and Jaskier learns a little more about Lambert's past.

Trigger warning: Mentions of child abuse. Also, a very naked Lambert. Jaskier's naked too, but that's normal.

As always, enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Planting radishes isn’t anything like eating radishes, and after two hours of weeding, fertilising and digging holes, Jaskier is more than a little cold, dirty and grumpy. He’s got dirt in his boots, in his hair and he’s almost sure there’s dirt in his diaper.

 

Vesemir’s kept them so busy they’ve barely had any time to complain, which isn’t bad. Jaskier’s actually really enjoying the feeling of doing something. The fresh air, while still a little cold, is helping to clear his head. Slimy's been brought into the yard, and Jaskier and Lambert were allowed to build him a little house out of sticks and pebbles in a small garden bed. Vesemir watched them with mild amusement from the chicken yard, several chickens escaping through the open gate as he scattered feed. After Lil Bleater had been fed and milked, Vesemir set them both to work.

 

Grumbling, with his diaper rubbing uncomfortably, Jaskier dumps all of the remaining seeds he’s been carrying for Vesemir into one hole and wipes his face with the back of a grubby mitten, screwing up his nose as he gets a whiff of the fertiliser still stuck to his paw.

 

Vesemir sighs.

 

‘No, Jaskier, not like that. Come here pup, you’ve got mud on your face- oh that’s not mud-’

 

Vesemir stops Jaskier from fleeing by catching him around the middle, using his thumb and a lick of spit to wipe away the mess. Jaskier does his best to squirm away from the assault, but Vesemir, like all the other wolves of Kaer Morhen, ignores his protests. As Vesemir is busy scrubbing Jaskier’s nose, Lambert wanders past, covered from head to toe in grime and carrying a disgruntled looking chicken. He sees Jaskier and grins, holding the chicken triumphantly.

 

‘I’m going to put it in Geralt’s room.’

 

Oh for f- If I see that chicken anywhere near the keep you’ll be sleeping outside with the goat.’ Vesemir says exasperatedly as Jaskier continues his desperate bid for freedom.

 

Wriggling out of Vesemir’s grasp, Jaskier wipes the spit off his nose, grumbling. With a scowl and a rather rude hand gesture, Lambert drops the chicken; it sprints away at high speed, squawking loudly, feathers flying. Vesemir looks Lambert up and down, unimpressed, and Jaskier can’t help but giggle.

 

‘Make that hand gesture at me again and I’ll put you back in the mittens.’ He says sternly, pointing a thick finger at Lambert’s chest. Lambert pouts and walks away, and Vesemir hangs his head, sighing. ‘I’d forgotten just how much trouble two boys could be. I turn around for three minutes-’

 

Picking out a diaper wedgy, Jaskier kicks at a stone underfoot, bored. He’s really had quite enough gardening. When he looks up, there are yellow eyes studying him and Vesemir’s expression softens.

 

‘I can see you’ve had enough,’ he says, ruffling Jaskier’s hair. ‘We’re nearly done. I just need to water, then it’s bath time. Lamb, could you please bring me the hose? And Jaskier, I need you to turn the tap over there please. There’s a good boy.’

 

Toddling a little, because of the diaper chafing around his hips and the mud-covered gumboots on his feet, Jaskier finds the tap, brushing aside an overgrown bush to turn the slightly rusted handle. The quicker the vegetables are watered, the quicker he’ll be in the bath. The tap squeaks, and Jaskier can hear the rush of water as the hose jerks from the pressure.

 

Lambert’s shrill cry of joy, and the sound of Vesemir cursing rings through the courtyard.

 

Struggling to hide his grin, Lambert still has the hose clutched in one hand, and is spraying water across the yard. Opposite him, with a clear line of water across his front from where he’s obviously been squirted, is Vesemir, looking less than impressed.

 

‘Lambert, do that again and you’ll get a smack. Give me the hose.’

 

Shrieking, Lambert drops the hose and runs, his laughter carrying across the courtyard, clear and bright. Several of the escaped chickens scatter as he disappears around a corner at high speed. With a sigh, Vesemir picks up the hose skittering around the cobblestones and finishes watering the new garden-bed with a great amount of care.

 

‘Alright pup,’ Vesemir calls to Jaskier, who tears his eyes away from a pretty ladybug crawling along a leaf to listen. ‘Hose off, please. LAMBERT! What did I say about the damn chicken!’

 

Somehow, Vesemir manages to get both boys into the keep, several pairs of muddy boots left on the doorstep. Jaskier drags his feet, his legs aching from all the walking, the diaper starting to hurt. Taking off his scarf, Vesemir hangs it from the coat rack in the hall, takes one look at Jaskier drooping and picks him up. Resting comfortably in Vesemir’s arms, Jaskier snuggles into his shoulder.

 

It’s almost too easy. He doesn’t even have to open his mouth, and they know what he needs.

 

Even though it’s clear Vesemir is old, his hair grey, his face wrinkled and his belly round from years of good food, he lifts Jaskier easily. Wrapping his legs around Vesemir’s waist, he leans into the warmth. The fire in the hall has burned low in their absence, letting the chill into the room.

 

‘Lamb, will you grab Jaskier’s diaper bag for me?’ Vesemir says, pointing towards the rug. ‘Then come and hold my hand, pup, we’re going down to the springs.’

 

‘BATH!’ Lambert yips with excitement, a wide grin across his mud covered face. As he races across the room, skidding to a stop in front of the bag decorated with ducks, he continues to babble his joy. ‘Bath bath bath bath-’

 

‘Yes Lamb, bath.’ Vesemir says fondly, as Lambert bounces back. Shifting Jaskier to his hip, he holds out his hand for Lambert to grab. Lambert ignores it, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he continues to swing the diaper bag around, spinning in little circles. With an amused grunt, Vesemir bends slightly, catching Lambert’s hand to hold him still, and Jaskier digs his knees into the soft belly of Vesemir’s middle to hang on. Looking Lambert in the eye, Vesemir’s tone drops.

 

‘Now, Lamb. I’m going to have my hands full with Jaskier, so I need you to be a good boy for me. You know the rules. If I catch you running, jumping or, god forbid, masturbating in the pool, I will put you over my knee, do you understand?’

 

Jaskier can feel his cheeks burning. How many times did that have to happen for Vesemir to create a rule about it? He isn’t sure he wants to know. Or maybe he does. Shifting a little uncomfortably in Vesemir’s arms, Jaskier watches as Lambert tugs his hand away from Vesemir, defiantly crossing his arms with a huff.

 

Lambert.’

 

Fine. But you have to wash my hair.’

 

‘Deal.’

 

The staircase is dim, and Jaskier opens his eyes as wide as they go to try and see, to no avail. Lambert and Vesemir seem to have no problem making their way through the gloom, their yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. The lower they get, the warmer and more humid the air becomes, until even Jaskier can smell the minerals from the springs. The steady sound of water dripping gets louder, and as Vesemir leads them through a narrow doorway that’s been carved into the stone, Jaskier buzzes with excitement.

 

The natural underground mountain spring is even more beautiful in the daylight. Sunlight spills into the heated room through a large crack in the wall, the stalagmites and stalactites around the room glistening. Swirling steam rises from the pool in the middle of the cavern, deep blue water sparkling in the soft light. Clean towels are folded neatly along the far wall, tucked into simple shelves along the weathered stone. Sir Ducksworth waits patiently on the outcrop of the spring, next to two bars of soap and a clean washcloth.

 

Before Kaer Morhen, Jaskier thought the best place in the world was the showers at the gym. This is something else entirely. It’s like he’s died and gone to heaven. If it weren’t for his diaper changes, and the bottles, Jaskier would wonder if he’d actually died of starvation back in that alley, frozen in the rain. Pushing away the though, he bounces excitedly on Vesemir’s hip, chirruping and eager to be free.

 

He wants to be in the bath now.

 

Apparently, Lambert feels the same. It’s a struggle to get him to sit still long enough to divest him of his clothes, and he hops around excitedly. Depositing Jaskier beside a stalagmite, Vesemir catches Lambert around the middle, nuzzling into him before starting to peel off his layers.

 

‘Lamb if you stop wriggling, this will go a lot faster.’

 

As Lambert’s shirt is wrestled away, Jaskier swallows thickly. Though not as broad as Geralt or Eskel, Lambert is still pretty damn fine, in Jaskier’s very humble opinion.The youngest wolf has a dark thatch of hair covering his muscled chest, thinning before it disappears under the hem of trousers that sit on prominent hip bones. There is a large, star-shaped scar on his upper back, just under his left shoulder blade. Though faded, it was clearly a vicious wound, still red and angry.

 

What catches Jaskier’s attention isn’t the star shaped scar, the chest hair or the broad, rippling muscles, though. It’s the pale white marks, crisscrossing over Lambert’s back and shoulders that stop Jaskier in his tracks.

 

The thin, faded lines are something that he recognises all too well.

 

Unconsciously rubbing his own scars, Jaskier feels like he’s swallowed a stone, and he has the sudden urge to throw up his breakfast. Setting Lambert’s shirt aside, Vesemir looks up, his yellow eyes full of concern. His nostrils flare, and he beckons Jaskier closer with the crook of his finger. Picking up his wolf tail, Jaskier approaches slowly, struggling to tear his eyes away from Lambert’s back. Vesemir takes Jaskier’s hand as Lambert, completely unaware of Jaskier’s internal crisis, flops onto the ground and begins to tug off his socks.

 

‘I want to tell you a story, pup. One I think you need to hear.’ Vesemir says softly, putting one arm gently over Jaskier’s shoulders. He instantly feels a little better, tucked against Vesemir’s warmth, and the older man gives a rumbling purr of approval. Taking Jaskier’s hand, and running a calloused thumb over the scars, Vesemir’s expression softens as he watches Lambert sniffing his dirty sock.

 

‘I rescued Lambert when he was three.’ He says as Lambert pulls a face, throwing the sock over his shoulder. ‘From a home very much like yours, I think.’

 

Jaskier’s eyes widen, and he leans into Vesemir, listening intently.

 

He’s heard a little from Geralt about witchers, the trials and the wolf mutations, mostly from the bedtime stories he tells when he’s feeling particularly verbose, but nothing about Lambert’s personal history. All he knows is that they are old. While Jaskier isn’t particularly sure he believes that Vesemir is five centuries old, sometimes they talk of monsters that Jaskier’s never heard of, and discuss things that haven’t existed for a very long time, like horse-drawn carts and the plague. It’s a little unsettling.

 

When Vesemir pauses, Lambert looks up, his yellow eyes watching them intently. He yips, a short, sharp sound that hurts Jaskier’s ears and reverberates around the cavern. Looking rather unimpressed, Vesemir points upwards, at the sock Lambert’s thrown haphazardly. ‘Pick that up at once. We do not throw our clothes all over the damn keep.’

 

Pouting, Lambert climbs a stalagmite to retrieve it.

 

‘He was a skinny little thing.’ Vesemir continues as Lambert begins to scale the wall with ease. ‘I’d just completed a contract on a katakan, and I stopped by the tavern for a drink. That’s when I saw him. Filthy, covered in welts and digging through a bin for food.’

 

Jaskier isn’t sure what a katakan is, but something inside him twinges painfully at the image of Lambert, dirty, starving and alone. He sniffles. Vesemir hums and gives him a small reassuring squeeze.

 

‘Turns out his father was the local drunkard. Bastard just let the pup scavenge while he drank.’ Vesemir explains, his eyes flashing with a darkness Jaskier hasn’t seen before. It’s there for only a moment, then it’s gone. At the mention of his father, Lambert drops down from the wall and yips again. A small, sad noise that makes Jaskier’s heart hurt. Vesemir’s voice softens. ‘I couldn’t very well leave him there, so I brought him home, made him one of us.’

 

He’s talking about the trials, Jaskier knows. Geralt didn’t go into much detail, but there was a story about a boy chained to a table, his friend watching over him as he slept fitfully, the mutagens coursing through his system. Jaskier is pretty sure Geralt was that boy, and that Eskel was the friend. He didn’t really like the story, and it made his Papa sad, but it did explain a few things, like the bond between his Papa and Geralt.

 

The experiments that gave the men their strength and yellow eyes, also took their humanity and gave them their animalistic behaviours. The more stories Jaskier hears, the less he likes humans. Not that he liked them very much anyway, his father being a prime example. Although, in saying that, he doesn’t exactly want to be a witcher, either.

 

Vesemir waves a hand, as though he’s read Jaskier’s mind.

 

‘You don’t have to worry about any of that, pup. You’re a little old to be mutated, and I wouldn’t risk your life to make you like us, even if I could.’ He says, releasing Jaskier’s hand to pet him reassuringly on the head. Jaskier lets out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, and Vesemir taps his nose once, winking. ’Besides, I have other ways of keeping you fit and healthy, don’t you worry. This old codger still has a few tricks up his sleeve. Now, Lambert come here. I want a hug, and I need your pants.’

 

Sitting Jaskier down beside a stalagmite, Vesemir turns his attention to Lambert, who’s kicking at the floor, grumbling. He perks up when his name is called, and saunters over. As Vesemir pulls him into a hug, Lambert huffs, his shoulders relaxing visibly as he’s curled into Vesemir’s embrace. Meanwhile, Jaskier considers what he’s learned, twisting his tail between his fingers.

 

‘I know you don’t like to talk about it pup,’ Vesemir says quietly to Lambert, and Jaskier stops fidgeting to listen again, straining his ears over the steady drip drip drip of water off the cavern roof. Vesemir nips at the skin under Lambert’s ear, causing him to let out a softer yip, ‘but it will help Jaskier to understand why he’s safe here, and why I’ll do my damnedest to keep you both safe and happy. Now, into the bath with you. You smell like a chicken-house.’

 

As the last of Lambert’s clothes fall away, Jaskier looses his trail of thought entirely. All his blood seems to have rushed away from his head. Letting out a grunt of appreciation and cocking his head to the side, he watches as Lambert climbs into the pool. His cock dangling enticingly between muscled thighs, thick and heavy. Even soft, it’s magnificent, and Jaskier wants to wrap his-

 

A tug on his onesie forces him back to reality.

 

‘Same rules apply to you, pup.’ Vesemir says sternly. ‘No masturbating in the spring. It’s too damn hard to clean out. Alright, leg up, there we go.’

 

Jaskier's cheeks flush. As Vesemir tugs again, he takes a breath and forces himself to calm down.

 

It’s really difficult, considering the obscene noises Lambert is making as he sinks into the water. Sighing, Vesemir forces Jaskier to step out of his mud covered onesie, setting it aside to work on the straps of his diaper. Unconsciously, Jaskier tries to move away, very aware of the throbbing heat between his legs. Vesemir catches him firmly by the hip, pulling him back. He tuts as a clump of dirt falls from the diaper, hitting the floor with a splat.

 

How it got in there, Jaskier isn’t sure. Though it does help to kill his arousal.

 

Unabashed by his nudity and his flagging erection, Vesemir picks him up. Jaskier mewls as he hits the water. Sinking into the heated pool with a groan almost as indecent as Lambert’s, Jaskier gives the water a little test splash with his hands. It’s perfect. He is put in the shallow end of the pool, on the same smooth rocky outcrop that Geralt sat him on when he was here last time. Just like Geralt, Vesemir seems determined to hold onto him. It’s almost as though they think he can’t swim or something.

 

He can’t, but still.

 

Holding Jaskier firmly around the waist, Vesemir shoes Lambert away, picking up a bar of soap. ‘Go on Lamb, you get nice and clean while I sort out the little pup.’

 

With a huff, Lambert glides over to the deeper end. Pressing his back to the stone ledge on the opposite end of the pool, he sinks down on the step, running wet fingers through dark hair, his torso glistening with droplets of steamy water. Jaskier whines, trying to follow. He really wants to touch.

 

Vesemir doesn’t agree, and Jaskier is kept firmly on the step, no matter how much he whines and wriggles. He is scrubbed down, viciously, and he gains a better understanding of Geralt’s brashness. Vesemir doesn’t hurt Jaskier, but he’s certainly not gentle. As Jaskier is manhandled, Lambert watches, clearly enjoying the show. His sharp canines protrude over his bottom lip as he grins. Dipping one hand into the water, Lambert hisses through his teeth and Jaskier nearly swallows his tongue.

 

Vesemir raises an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. ‘What did I say? Hand off, pup. I want to see you washing.’

 

Scowling, Lambert’s hand emerges from the water and he picks up a bar of soap. With a hum of approval, Vesemir returns to his task. Quickly and efficiently, he scrubs until Jaskier’s skin is pinked and all the mud has been washed off his upper body. Scrubbing his backside with the same efficiency, Vesemir’s hand brushes Jaskier’s cock, which jerks excitedly at the touch. Jaskier very much wishes he could evaporate.

 

‘Damn pups. Insatiable, the whole lot of you.’ Vesemir snorts, pushing Jaskier’s cock away with little ceremony to continue cleaning him. Jaskier’s head bumps Vesemir’s chest and he leans back, shame forgotten as Vesemir continues to touch him. His hands are even rougher than Geralt’s, and it’s almost too much. Almost. With sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Vesemir continues to clean around his groin, and Jaskier jerks when the older man gives his testicles a light tug, humming like he’s considering something.

 

Jaskier doesn’t like that noise at all.



With a yelp, he tries to scoot away, but Vesemir holds firm, tutting. ‘Easy pup.’ He says with a grunt, releasing Jaskier’s testicles and pulling him back towards him, ‘stop fussing and sit still, you’ve still got mud on your backside.’

 

As Jaskier sulks on the step, hiding his testicles behind his hands, Vesemir sighs.

 

‘Don’t pout. I’m not going to hurt you. I thought we established that I only want what’s best for you?’ Stroking through his hair, Vesemir gives him a reassuring smile. It’s warm and non-threatening, but Jaskier continues to hold onto his testicles anyway, just in case.

 

‘I think I have something that might make you feel better-’Holding Jaskier by the elbow, Vesemir tugs him sideways a little, reaching for something in the shelving.



As the little rubber duck bobs on the water, Jaskier tries very hard to resist.To make resisting easier, he turns his head away and crosses his arms defiantly with a little huff. Lambert, though pretending to wash, can be seen watching the toy out of the corner of his eye. Vesemir notices.

 

‘I want to see you washing properly, pup,’ He says, pointing a soapy finger at Lambert. ‘Then you can play with the duck.’

 

Jaskier picks up Sir Ducksworth immediately. That’s his toy.

 

‘Good boy.’ Vesemir says, purring. The praise settles into Jaskier’s tummy, a warm, glowing feeling that he likes very much. Picking up a jug, Vesemir fills it with water, lifting Jaskier’s chin to tilt his head back. ‘Now hold still-’

 

Carefully tipping water over Jaskier’s head, Vesemir starts on his hair. The warm water feels nice around his ears. Massaging soap into his scalp, Vesemir hums as Jaskier continues to play with his duck. He’s enjoying the head massage very much, until toughened fingers get caught in a particularly tangled knot. Jaskier yelps, clutching Sir Ducksworth to his chest.

 

‘Sorry pup. It’s getting a bit long, might need a trim.’ Vesemir says, rubbing the back of Jaskier’s neck reassuringly. Jaskier glares at him, scowling.

 

As rough fingers resume scratching against his scalp and the last of the knots are untangled one by one, Jaskier stops scowling, melting into the touch. Geralt didn’t wash his hair last time he was in the springs, although, he was rather rashy that time. Mewling, he leans into the head scratch as Lambert dunks his own head under the water, washing the bubbles away. After rinsing, Vesemir begins to rub a soft smelling oil through Jaskier’s hair, making the ends shiny and soft. It feels nice, and Jaskier leans into it.

 

‘Good boy.’ Vesemir praises as Jaskier nuzzles into the touch. Vesemir pats him once on the shoulder, and Jaskier pouts. ‘All finished pup.’

 

‘My turn?’

 

‘Yes, Lamb. Come here.’

 

Something does a back-flip in Jaskier’s tummy as Lambert wades across the pool, splashing water everywhere in his hurry to get to Vesemir. Jaskier remembers the rules and keeps his hands to himself, which is really, really hard with Lambert so close. When Lambert brushes against him, his skin is hotter than the water, and Jaskier loses his balance.

 

Vesemir catches him by the arm, before he can topple off the step.

 

Be careful Lamb! Hold Jaskier’s hand, I don’t want him slipping.’

 

Entwining their fingers, Lambert instantly starts to purr. He leans into Jaskier’s side, holding him tightly. Jaskier keeps a hold of Sir Ducksworth, so that he doesn’t drift away. They sit like that for quite a while, Vesemir humming contentedly as he washes Lambert’s hair, small mewling noises occasionally spewing forth from the youngest wolf. He’s clearly enjoying the attention from his Papa, and makes a soft keening noise as Vesemir scratches him behind the ear. When Jaskier’s no longer aching with need, Vesemir rinses the last of the suds from Lambert’s hair and picks up the little bottle of soft smelling oil.

 

‘Alright pup, you’re finished. You can have five minutes to play, and then it’s lunch time.’

 

As Vesemir takes Jaskier around the middle once more, Lambert sits up a little straighter, letting out an excited little chirrup. He’s so close that Jaskier can smell the soap and oil, and see the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes. Jaskier is expecting a lick or a kiss when Lambert leans towards him- instead, Lambert snatches the toy from his hands.

 

‘It’s my turn.’ He says, grinning.

 

Distraught, Jaskier tries to snatch Sir Ducksworth back, but Lambert splashes backwards, out of reach, and Vesemir doesn’t release the grip from around Jaskier’s waist. Separated from his toy, Jaskier looks on helplessly as Lambert bounds away. A painful sensation begins to build in his chest, and his fingers tremble as his heart beat skyrockets. His lip start to wobble, and he bursts into tears.

 

 

 

Lambert!’ Vesemir scolds as Jaskier starts to cry in earnest. Still holding Sir Ducksworth, Lambert’s eyes widen and he stops retreating at once, a look of confusion on his face. The older man pulls Jaskier into his chest, undeterred by his wetness and Jaskier burrows his face into Vesemir’s vest, spreading tears and snot over the fabric. His toy was stolen, and he wails his distress into Vesemir’s shirt. He can’t cope, and it’s not fair. He feels a warm hand soothe over his hair.

 

‘Easy pup, you’re okay.’ Vesemir soothes. ‘Lambert, we don’t snatch. Give it back and ask him nicely.’

 

Cautiously, Lambert hands the toy back, and Jaskier snatches it immediately, eyes still brimming with tears. Clutching Sir Ducksworth to his chest tightly, Jaskier sniffles and eyes Lambert warily. Lambert looks concerned, yellow eyes flicking between Jaskier and Vesemir. Vesemir clears his throat, and Lambert dips his head, looking apologetic and scooting closer on the step.

 

‘I’m sorry, Jask. I didn’t mean- I’m sorry.’ Lambert looks uncertainly at Vesemir, and Vesemir nods encouragingly. Jaskier can feel the movement as he presses back against the man’s soggy vest, still holding his toy in shaking fingers. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t know.’

 

Jaskier doesn’t speak, and Vesemir gives him a gentle squeeze, calloused fingers digging into the soft flesh of his belly. ‘Jaskier, would you let Lambert have a turn? No one is going to be mad if you say no, but I appreciate pups who can share their toys.’

 

Jaskier hesitates. Sir Ducksworth is his. Heart is still racing, tumbling over and over in his chest, Jaskier looks between the two of them. Vesemir said they wouldn’t be mad if he said no, and he really likes Lambert, but still- it’s a lot to consider. With Vesemir still petting his hair and Lambert watching him, looking like a scolded puppy, Jaskier makes up his mind.

 

He nods, holding the duck to Lambert.

 

Vesemir nuzzles into the back of Jaskier’s neck, a low purr rumbling from him. ‘Good boy Jaskier. That was very good, I’m proud of you.’

 

Something inside Jaskier sings. The praise warms his soul, sinking deeply into his bones and he leans into the touch, desperate for more. Vesemir obliges, rough hand squeezing Jaskier gently around the middle as he presses his nose into Jaskier’s wet hair. Jaskier enjoys the comforting touch as Lambert starts to play.

 

He copes for about five minutes, before his fingers start itching. He wants his toy back. It’s then, still keeping Jaskier tucked against his side, that Vesemir reaches over and takes the rubber duck from Lambert, declaring it’s time to get out. Jaskier’s lip quivers again, but Vesemir is determined. As the toy is put back on the shelf, Lambert emits a rather fantastic string of curse words, and Jaskier is so impressed that he forgets to be mad at Vesemir.

 

‘Lambert, if I hear any of those words around Jaskier again, I will wash out your mouth with soap. Jaskier, enough, it’s time to get out.’

 

When Vesemir lifts him out of the water he remembers, and he screeches; even though he’s wrinkly like a prune, he’s not ready to get out. Wrapping him in a soft and fluffy towel, Vesemir plops him down on the stone. It’s slippery underfoot, and Vesemir holds him tightly. With a stern warning to stay in the shallows, Lambert is allowed to remain in the bath.

 

It’s not very fair, in Jaskier’s opinion.

 

Vesemir works quickly, always keeping an eye on Lambert. Laying a dry towel down on a stretch of floor that hasn’t been soaked from their splashing, Vesemir settles Jaskier down and pulls over the diaper bag as Lambert continues to splash and play in the water. Jaskier is dried off, his hair scruffed until it stands on end.

 

Compared to the humidity of the air, the salve is cold, and Jaskier grumbles as Vesemir spreads it liberally over his groin. Jaskier tries very hard to think unsexy thoughts as the older man strokes over his genitals. He’s half successful, and his semi-erect cock is tucked into a clean diaper as he very pointedly stares at the crack in the wall that lets in the mid-day sun. He’s dressed in the onesie decorated with little green dinosaurs and he frowns. He was rather enjoying being naked with Lambert. Much to his dismay, he has to wait outside the bath as Vesemir lifts a shrieking Lambert out of the water. He gets a smack for trying to climb back in. Pouting, he waits by a stalagmite.

 

Though rather damp, Vesemir manages to get Jaskier, Lambert and the diaper bag upstairs and into the hall, even if Lambert isn’t dressed at all. Jaskier is deposited in his crib as Lambert follows Vesemir around the hall, naked as the day he was born. Jaskier isn’t mad. Quickly as he is able, Vesemir tends to the fire, the flames flickering to life as the smell of smoky pine fills the air. Lambert rolls around on the rug, rubbing his face into the spot where Jaskier spends most of his time, almost as though he is soaking in the scent.

 

With the fire burning brightly in the hearth, the iron guard is moved back into place and Vesemir beckons Lambert over with the crook of his finger. Padding along on bare feet, cock soft and beautiful between his legs, Lambert nuzzles into Vesemir as he’s dressed in his own clean clothing, simple jeans and a shirt. Jaskier pouts from his crib as Vesemir showers Lambert with attention.

 

‘I see you, pup.’ Vesemir says with a chuckle, looking up when Jaskier lets out a sad little whine. ‘You are a very needy little pup, I can see what Geralt is talking about.’

 

Jaskier makes a noise of indignation, plopping down onto his bottom with a huff.

 

He is not.

 

With Lambert fully dressed, Vesemir pats him on the bottom to send him off and he flops back down on the fur rug again, stretching lazily. Reaching further into the diaper bag, Vesemir pulls out the blocks, passing them down to where Lambert’s made himself quite comfortable. With a happy little chirrup, Lambert starts to move the blocks around. Jaskier whines, banging on the bars of his crib. He wants to play too. Tutting, Vesemir rummages through the diaper bag again, pulling something from the depths. Jaskier is very happy to see Mr Wolfe, and snuggles into him with a happy chirrup. Turning back, Vesemir sighs dejectedly as he watches as Lambert spells out the word P-E-N-I-S with the blocks, snickering.

 

‘Lamb, cut that out. Since you’re obviously feeling a little bigger, can you watch Jaskier while I prepare lunch? Don’t let him out of his crib.’

 

With a confirmation grunt from Lambert, Vesemir exits the hall, shaking his head. Jaskier waits exactly three minutes before climbing out of the crib, Lambert watching him with a wicked grin.

Notes:

And a wild backstory appeared!

Thanks for all the love and support, especially as I struggle through. Your comments brighten my day.

Chapter 14: Daddy

Notes:

Alright, so this chapter is a little more brutal. Jaskier breaks some rules and gets hurt. We also find out more about Aiden and what happened to him. Because someone once called me an angst writer, and I don't want to let them down. You've been warned.

There is also a little bit of innocent smut right at the start, hooray!

Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Blocks forgotten, Jaskier swallows audibly as he is rolled onto his back. Crouched over him, Lambert smells like soap and sulphur, lingering traces of their earlier bath. The fur rug is soft beneath them, the fire crackling warmly behind the iron guard. Their proximity to the hearth isn’t the reason for Jaskier’s flushed skin.

 

Caging Jaskier between his arms, Lambert kisses him. His tongue dances over Jaskier’s lips, tasting him, teasing him. Jaskier opens himself up eagerly, wanting everything Lambert is willing to give. As Lambert deepens the kiss, Jaskier’s heart rate skyrockets. The heat licks into his mouth, and he drinks in the taste. It’s heady, and the kiss makes him dizzy. Excitement dances across his skin like a wildfire and his cock jerks, rather enthusiastic about the whole thing. Reaching up, Jaskier tangles his fingers through Lambert’s hair, still damp from the bath.

 

He doesn’t realise he’s making desperate little noises until Lambert speaks, breath hot in his ear.

 

‘What do you need, Jaskier?’

 

The way Lambert says his name makes him shiver, goosebumps trailing across skin still hidden under dinosaur fabric. ‘M-more- please-’

 

Lambert seems more than happy to oblige, if the low growl is anything to go by. Jaskier squeals in delight as Lambert presses their bodies together. Nudging his legs apart, Lambert lowers himself, resting his weight against Jaskier’s hips. A terrifically solid thigh grinds against his cock. Even through his diaper, the friction is perfect.

 

Tugging at Lambert’s hair, he bucks his hips up into the feeling. Lambert’s erection, hard and so very hot, presses into his stomach. When Lambert ruts against him, rolling his hips, Jaskier sees stars. Thrusting again, Lambert sucks a mark under his ear. With another desperate little noise Jaskier tips his head to the side so Lambert can get to the skin there, too.

 

When Lambert’s teeth sink into the soft lobe of Jaskier’s ear, the tiniest amount of pain sends him tumbling over the edge, into the abyss. He arches his back with a cry, vision whiting out as fireworks explode behind his eyelids. Growling again, Lambert’s movements become more purposeful as he chases his own release, thrusting against Jaskier’s stomach, again and again. Jaskier whines and tries to wriggle away, overstimulated, but Lambert doesn’t stop. The heat of Lambert’s cock is scorching, and Jaskier can feel the hard line of it against his stomach, even through their clothing. Lambert gives a particularly brutal nip to his bottom lip as his hips stutter, and he follows Jaskier over the edge with a choked moan, eyes closed and teeth bared in a snarl. Jaskier clings to him, his own cock oversensitive and twitching feebly in its confines.

 

‘Fuck. That’s good.’ Lambert says, eyes still closed. He reaches down and squeezes himself through his clothing, hissing. Rolling off Jaskier with a groan, and still holding the base of his clothed cock in one hand, Lambert flops onto his back, panting. With a sinful moan and another jerk, almost as though he’s still coming, Lambert finally lets his cock go, chest heaving. There’s a considerable wet patch at his groin, and Jaskier can feel his own spend, hot and sticky in his diaper.

 

There’s now two feet of distance between them, and Jaskier doesn’t like it. He wants cuddles.

 

When he makes a needy little noise, Lambert opens his eyes, still looking slightly dazed. He chuckles and lifts up his arm, encouraging Jaskier closer. As Jaskier snuggles into his side, Lambert starts to purr. The bliss lasts several minutes, until Jaskier sits bolt upright, panicking.

 

‘Will Pa- Eskel be mad?’

 

Sitting up, Lambert pulls Jaskier a little closer, giving him a sniff. It tickles. ‘Nah, your Papa won’t mind. You still smell more like him than me.’ he says, matter of factly.

 

Jaskier isn’t sure how he feels about that, but it is a little reassuring, he supposes. Relaxing, he goes back to relishing in the afterglow, cuddled against Lambert. It’s not as nice now that there is a cold sticky mess between his legs, but it was worth it. Feeling very content, nestled next to Lambert by the fire, Jaskier lets out a happy sigh. He’s feeling rather satisfied.

 

He’s had a really good day.

 

With a small huff of laughter, Lambert presses a kiss to the top of his head, and then stands up. Disgruntled, because he hasn’t finished cuddling yet, Jaskier tries to tug him back down so they can continue. It’s like trying to move a stone pillar. Distracted, Lambert’s eyes focus on the kitchen door, his head tilted slightly as though he is listening for something. Intrigued, Jaskier listens too. He can’t hear anything other than the fire crackling merrily behind them. With a small grin, Lambert’s eyes flash mischievously. He takes Jaskier firmly by the hand and hoists him up.

 

‘I wanna show you something.’

 

Making a noise of confusion, Jaskier is a little wobbly on his feet but Lambert helps him to stand. Still holding Lambert’s hand, Jaskier glances towards the kitchen, uncertain. He is interested, but he doesn’t want to get in trouble. He really doesn’t like spankings. Geralt is mean.

 

‘What about Vesemir?’

 

‘He’s busy,’ Lambert says waving a hand, unconcerned as the sound of a blender starts in the kitchen, loud enough that even Jaskier can hear it. Giving his hand a quick squeeze, Lambert nods at a door on the far side of the hall. It’s one Jaskier hasn’t been through before, and his interest grows. ’Besides,’ Lambert adds, ‘if we’re quick, the old man won’t even notice.’

 

He can’t argue with that.

 

Hand clutched in Lambert’s, the pair of them creep out of the hall as the blender continues to whirr in the background. As Lambert pulls open the heavy door, the hinges creak softly. Slipping through and pulling Jaskier with him, Lambert pulls the door shut behind them with a gentle click, blocking out the sound of the blender.

 

They travel down two crumbling stone hallways, with dirty windows that reach from floor to ceiling, the midday sun streaming through. Despite the onesie, the chill creeps through the glass. The sticky mess cooling in his diaper does not help matters at all. With a small hum, Lambert tucks Jaskier under his arm, leading him onward. He stops only when they reach a narrow stone staircase leading downwards, into darkness.

 

‘Down here. Watch your step.’

 

The further they descend into darkness, the colder it gets. There’s an icy breeze creeping through cracks in the stone. The walls here are crumbling, worse than anything Jaskier has seen upstairs, and he stumbles over the uneven ground more than once. Lambert always catches him.

 

He can hear the sound of water dripping in the distance, echoing through the dilapidated corridor. Green, slimy moss protrudes from several damp areas on the walls, spreading across the floor and Jaskier wrinkles his nose against the smell of damp and decay. Holding tightly to Lambert, who’s yellow eyes glow mischievously in the gloom, Jaskier stumbles onward, very much wishing that he were safely back upstairs.

 

‘How much further?’ He asks, hopping a little as his toe collides with a particularly mean stone.

 

‘We’re nearly there.’ Lambert reassures him, waiting patiently while Jaskier finishes kicking the stone in retribution. ‘I can’t wait for you to see it. Aiden-’

 

Lambert stumbles over the name, his voice catching in his throat. Jaskier hasn’t heard Lambert mention Aiden before. Wanting to offer comfort and support, he squeezes Lambert’s hand. Lambert squeezes back, shaking his head as though to steel his nerves.

 

‘Aiden- Aiden and I used to come here all the time.’ He finishes determinedly, his voice rough as it reverberates off the stone. ‘Because it is really cool, you’ll see-’

 

Light filters in from small holes in cut the stone set high in the wall, but it’s still hard for Jaskier to see. As Lambert continues through the semi-darkness, Jaskier follows obediently, still holding his hand tightly. The stairway ends, the narrow corridor widens, and a doorway comes into view. It’s sealed completely. Large wooden boards are nailed across the frame, blocking access to the room beyond.

 

It looks very out of bounds.

 

‘Through here-’ Lambert says, clearly not caring that the door has been nailed shut. Lifting one of the boards to create a gap large enough to squeeze through, Lambert looks expectantly at Jaskier. A cold breeze drifts through, causing the little hairs on the back of Jaskier’s neck to stand on end. He hesitates. He can feel the smacks on his bottom already.

 

Lifting the board a little higher, Lambert jerks his head, inviting Jaskier forward. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after you.’

 

It’s scary and foreboding, and as the wind whistles through the darkened corridors ominously, Jaskier considers what he’s about to do. He wants to know more about Aiden, more about Lambert, but mostly, he wants to please Lambert. If Lambert’s willing to share this with him, to break the rules, well, he’ll have to be brave. Because they are going to be in so much trouble later.

 

The boards creak as Jaskier pushes his way through, Lambert holding the weathered board up and out of the way, creating a gap just large enough to shimmy through. His diaper makes it a little difficult, but he manages. He can hear Lambert squeezing through behind him.

 

The room is large. Like the main hall above, it comes complete with dangling chandeliers. These are covered in cobwebs, the spiders making themselves at home in the abandoned space. It’s eerie, and missing the great tables and the warmth of the fireplace. One of the walls has collapsed completely, and another is barely standing, enormous cracks snaking their way up the stone support pillars. Large, moth eaten tapestries hang along the walls, crooked, decaying and faded. Jaskier wrinkles his nose. The room smells old. There are broken pieces of furniture piled throughout the hall, old tables, bed frames, broken chairs and something that looks like a distillery, rusted and disused. The floor is crumbling in places, large chunks of stone having fallen away to create great chasms in the floor, the darkened abyss beneath seemingly endless.

 

It doesn’t seem very safe, at any rate. Whoever barred the door had very good reason. But Jaskier doesn’t care, because he’s too busy staring at the ceiling.

 

There must be ten thousand glow worms glittering in the darkness.

 

Soft blue strands of light hang in the air like shining stars in the sky, moving lazily in the breeze creeping through the hall. With a small grunt, Lambert squeezes through the gap, following Jaskier into the room. He makes his way to where Jaskier is standing, mouth open and staring at the sight overhead, stunned. The light of the critters illuminates the entire room with a soft blue glow.

 

‘So- what do you think?’

 

It’s the most beautiful thing Jaskier’s ever seen, and he’s seen Geralt’s lovely bottom. Focus Jaskier. It takes him a while to find his words, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he stares at the sparkling creatures overhead. When he does find the words, they all tumble out together.

 

Ohmygoodnessitssoamazing-’ He forces himself to slow down, not taking his eyes off the display above. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it- Oh Lambert, I love it.’

 

Through the semidarkness, he can see Lambert’s eyes light up. Jaskier rises onto his tiptoes, and Lambert bends slightly to meet him for a kiss. He still smells like soap.

 

‘I knew you would.’ Lambert says as they break apart; the quiet breaths of air tickle Jaskier’s eyelashes. Lambert nuzzles into Jaskier’s hair as the soft sound of purring returns. Taking Jaskier by the arm, Lambert leads him over to the crumbling wall. Jaskier is careful not to step too close to the gaps in the floor; if he fell in now, he’d never forgive himself. Vesemir promised him mashed pumpkin later, after all.

 

Sinking down, Lambert pulls Jaskier to sit beside him. The stone wall is cold against his back, the floor even more so. Even through the thick onesie and his diaper, Jaskier can feel a sharp stone digging into his backside and he wriggles to get comfortable. He shivers as a mildewy breeze tickles his skin, and Lambert snuggles closer, tucking Jaskier under his arm once more.

 

Jaskier is unable to tear his eyes off the ceiling.

 

‘Aiden loved it here, too.’ Lambert says, speaking the name a little more confidently now. He tucks Jaskier’s head under his chin, his chest rumbling as he speaks. ‘It wasn’t so broken, then. Geralt sealed up the door when he died, to stop me coming down here on my own. He said it was too dangerous, but I needed to show you.’

 

‘I- thank you. It’s beautiful.’

Lambert lets out a soft sigh, and nuzzles into Jaskier's side, pressing as close as he can. He’s still purring. Clutching Lambert’s hand in his own, Jaskier can’t stop himself. He’s always been curious, and it’s gotten him into trouble more times than he can count-

 

Today is apparently no different.

 

‘What happened to him?’

 

The purring stops suddenly, and the sentence hangs in the damp air for far too long. Lambert’s face drops, and he stares into the giant chasm in the floor. Jaskier wishes he could snatch the words back and swallow them. He’s such an idiot. Stupid stupid boy- He needs to fix it, before Lambert leaves him down here in the dark.

 

‘I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-’

 

‘It’s okay.’ Lambert says quietly, cutting off Jaskier’s stammering. Though he says it’s okay, he lets go of Jaskier’s hand and pulls away ever so slightly. Jaskier feels his heart plummet to the bottom of the chasm. Fiddling with the hem his sleeve, Lambert takes a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling. Every second of silence feels like a decade for Jaskier. When Lambert takes Jaskier’s hand once more, he feels some of the air return to the room.

 

‘I’m not mad. I want to tell you. It’s just hard. I haven’t-’

 

‘You don’t have to, I shouldn’t have asked.’

 

‘I said I want to.’ Lambert says firmly, glancing down at Jaskier’s hand. His thumb strokes over the small scars there. Curling just a little closer into his side, Jaskier waits quietly. He doesn’t want to speak again and mess up even more. He’s not going to ask.

 

‘I- I met Aiden on a contract, a long time ago.’ Lambert continues, keeping his eyes firmly locked on Jaskier’s hand. ‘He saved my ass. The fiend was a lot fucking tougher than it looked, you know?’

 

Jaskier really didn’t know, but he listened intently all the same.

 

‘I ran out of bombs at the worst fucking time. So there I was, bleeding all over the fucking paddock, and he appeared out of nowhere, a blade in each hand. I knew he was a cat. Different mutations.’ Lambert explains when Jaskier makes a small noise of confusion, ‘wolves don’t learn dual wielding. Anyway, he cut off the fuckers head. I was expecting him to cut off mine too, but he didn’t. He waited for me to stitch myself up- because I was going to stab him if he came anywhere near me- then he offered to share the bounty with me. That was pretty fucking weird, especially for a cat. They aren’t known for sharing.’ Lambert scoffs once before pausing, his eyes shining in the gloom. ‘I don’t think I ever thanked him.’

 

Lambert takes a moment to nose against Jaskier's side, and Jaskier realises he’s seeking comfort in the same way he seeks it from Vesemir. Tilting his head back, just as he’s seen Vesemir do, Jaskier allows Lambert to press his nose against his neck. Lambert lets out a soft yip, nuzzling closer. The hot breath tickles Jaskier’s skin as Lambert huffs. Eventually, shaking his head, Lambert pulls away, straightening up and leaning back against the crumbling wall behind them. Several stones clatter to the ground. He doesn’t let go of Jaskier’s hand.

 

Anyway.’ He continues thickly, clearing his throat. Jaskier can still see the shine of his eyes but says nothing. ‘I met him a few more times, and then we started taking contracts together. He followed me back to Kaer Morhen one day, and then just- wouldn’t leave. Vesemir was furious. But he grew on them, like he did with me. He was a bastard like that.’

 

Lambert turns his head away, lifting his arm to wipe his face with his sleeve. Sniffling, he leans into Jaskier’s side again. As he breathes in Jaskier’s scent, he visibly relaxes, his shoulders dropping.

 

‘Sorry, you just- you smell so much like him. I never thought I would get to- it- it helps.’ Lambert says, keeping himself pressed into the crook of Jaskier’s neck. After a few quiet moments, huffing and sniffing, he pulls away again, and his tone drops dangerously as he continues the story. ‘So, one winter there was a bear, way too fucking close to the keep. Vesemir sent us down to take care of it. It wasn’t the fucking bear that was the problem though. I was skinning it- too fucking big to carry back- and- and-’ The pain in his voice peaks, voice cracking. ‘It was another fucking cat. I-I didn’t see him. He shot me in the back. He got Aiden in the- ‘ Lambert swallows thickly. ‘In the eye. Then he ran, like a motherfucking coward. I couldn’t save him. Aiden- he- he-’

 

Lambert can’t finish the sentence, and Jaskier doesn’t make him. Deep, wracking sobs burst forth as Lambert bows his head and cries. Heart wrenching cries that echo through the darkness. Unable to do anything else, Jaskier holds him, feeling Lambert’s body shaking beside him. He clings to Jaskier, hands gripping the fabric of his onesie as he buries his head in Jaskier’s chest, almost as though he believes Jaskier might disappear at any moment.

 

‘He was the best man I ever knew. I miss him so much. I- I should have thanked him.’

 

‘I’m so so sorry.’ Jaskier says, his own voice croaky. He’s trying very hard not to cry. He’s never been very good with sad stories, and his father always said he was too emotional. Swallowing his own tears, Jaskier focuses on comforting Lambert.

 

They stay together until Lambert’s sobs become quiet hiccups.

 

‘It’s okay. I’m sorry, I don’t-’ Lambert pauses, his eyes still shining. ‘I haven’t talked about it. Not since it happened. Vesemir says I should, though. Talk about it, I mean.’ Lambert offers a half shrug, like he’s never actually considered Vesemir’s advice until this moment. ‘Maybe the old man was right.’

 

Jaskier thinks Vesemir must be very wise. A good cry can help you to feel better. He cried lots after he lost Pogo. There’s a sharp pain in Jaskier’s chest as he thinks of Pogo. Watching him burn was the hardest thing he has ever done in his life. It isn’t really the same as Aiden, he knows, because Pogo wasn’t real, but he doesn’t really have anything else to relate it to, no one else he ever loved.

 

’He found me,’ Lambert continues quietly. ‘When we didn’t come back, Vesemir came looking for me. I- I was half frozen in the snow, just- just holding him. Eskel and Geralt, they hunted down the cat. Brought me his head. Fucking Jad Karadin. Wish I could have done it myself, but Vesemir says I was nearly dead so I couldn’t exactly gut the fucker myself.’

 

Seemingly unconsciously, he shrugs his left shoulder. The one Jaskier knows is marred with the twisted remains of a vicious scar. Jaskier shivers. He isn’t particularly fond of violence, but in this instance, he thinks it was justified. What Lambert went through was cruel and horrible, and Jaskier is glad Jad Karadin, whoever he was, is dead. He’s glad for Geralt and Eskel, for protecting Lambert, and he’s glad that Vesemir found Lambert before- he doesn’t want to think about it. Holding Lambert’s hand, Jaskier feels a wave of appreciation for the other wolves. He wonders what his Papa is doing right now, and if Vesemir is still fussing around in the kitchen, preparing lunch.

 

At the thought of lunch, Jaskier’s tummy grumbles, loudly.

 

Yellow eyes catch Jaskier’s, and Lambert bursts into laughter. It’s a deep, rumbling belly laugh that fills the darkness and shatters the tension and the sadness in the room. Jaskier can feel his cheeks burning.

 

‘Sorry, it’s lunch time-’

 

‘Hanging out for another bottle?’ Lambert teases, nudging Jaskier in the ribs with an elbow. He seems to be glad for the change of topic. He looks better; it’s obvious he’s been crying, but the weight that he’s been carrying on his shoulders seems to have lessened, just a little. Squeaking, because his ribs are sensitive, Jaskier snorts.

 

‘I was actually thinking of the pumpkin,’ He admits, ‘but, I wouldn’t say no to some roast. Oh oh,’ he bounces a little in his excitement, his tummy rumbling again. Now that he's thinking of food there are so many that come to mind. ‘Or maybe that stew Geralt made the other day, that looked really good- Oh, or more of that potato-’

 

Lambert lets out another bark of laughter, interrupting Jaskier’s ramblings. ‘You looked so damn devastated when Eskel put you in the corner, I had to swipe that potato for you. The bottles are good for you though, Vesemir spent years perfecting that recipe. He’s fucking stingy with the honey though.’ Lambert snorts.

 

Wrinkling his nose, Jaskier shudders at the thought.

 

‘Oh, and I’m sorry for ratting you out this morning,’ Lambert continues, nudging his shoulder against Jaskier’s. ‘Geralt would have noticed anyway, but I still feel like a snitch. I don’t really think when I’m- like that.’

 

It takes Jaskier a moment to understand what Lambert’s talking about. Right, the accident. Was that only this morning? It’s been a very full day of adventures. He feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment. ‘You all sniff me.’ He sulks.

 

‘That’s kinda our thing.’ Lambert laughs, ‘It drove Aiden mad, but he used to bring dead birds into the keep, so his opinion was void. He climbed the chandeliers too, and rubbed himself on everything, which drove Vesemir mad, and I swear he always had a knife hidden away. Damn stabby bastard.’

 

As Lambert demonstrates with a sharp jab of his wrist, Jaskier laughs. When he speaks about his adventures with Aiden, Lambert looks happy, and listening to the stories makes Jaskier feel all warm and fuzzy. He dodges an imaginary stab from Lambert with a squeal, giggling.

 

It feels good, to have someone to talk to- to have a proper conversation. Even if it doesn’t change anything.

 

‘Wolves are a little different.’ Lambert continues, tucking away his imaginary blade. ‘We’re pack animals, especially Geralt. He doesn’t do well if he’s away from Eskel too long. And Eskel, well, he’s completely different now you’re- here.’ Lambert pointedly skips over the kidnapping part, but then rolls his eyes. ‘He was so mopey all the time-’

 

In the short time Jaskier’s been here, Eskel has cared for him more than anyone has in his entire life. He loves Eskel’s warm cuddles, and the little kitten licks he gets under his chin after he’s been changed; he loves the kisses from his Papa, and when his Papa rubs his belly after a good meal; he loves story time and- He loves Eskel. He loves his Papa. More than he ever loved his own father.

 

He’s still not sure how he feels about Geralt. Though he’s been much more gentle over the last several days, since Eskel reprimanded him, Jaskier is still wary of the white haired witcher. Something to that effect must show on his face, because Lambert snorts a laugh.

 

‘Geralt will grow on you.’ He says, prodding Jaskier with his elbow again. ‘I hated Vesemir too, when he brought me here. Mouldy walls, leaky roof and it’s one big fucking ice-cube in the winter. Then there were the trials- It was fucking shit here, but there was food, even if Vesemir only let me have bottles for the first three years. He made sure I had what I needed though, even if he was looking after a lot more trainees then.’

 

Jaskier wonders how many witchers there were in Kaer Morhen, and how many died to leave only four behind. He’s seen the empty rooms when his Papa has carried him to their bedroom; beds left unmade, clothing strewn on the floor, forgotten. It’s very sad.

 

‘I know it must be weird,’ Lambert says, cutting through Jaskier’s thoughts. He’s rolling a broken stone around in his fingers, looking a little bit sheepish. ‘Because, well, you were kidnapped. I just- I’m really glad you’re here.’

 

On some sick, twisted level that he doesn’t quite understand, Jaskier is glad too. Lambert flicks the stone away, and it skitters across the broken floor and disappears over the edge of the chasm. With a little hum, Lambert pushes himself up from the ground, bracing himself against the crumbling stone wall behind them to get to his feet.

 

‘We should go, Vesemir is already going to be pissed-’

 

There’s a rumbling noise, so loud it causes Jaskier to startle. He looks up as Lambert turns, his pupils blown wide as several large rocks tumble down from the top of the stone wall, crashing to the floor around them. Face pale, Lambert lunges, reaching for Jaskier’s wrist.

 

‘Jaskier, move!’

 

Before Lambert has the chance to pull him away, something heavy slams into Jaskier’s back, hard. It knocks the wind out of him. Yelping, he hits the ground, throwing his arms over his head as more rocks tumble down around him. The noise is deafening, thick mortar dust filling the air. The entire castle seems to shudder violently. Jaskier cries out as another heavy stone slams into his back, pinning him to the ground. Lambert yells through the confusion, and Jaskier reaches towards the sound as a blinding pain erupts in his leg. His fingers brush a familiar warmth, and Jaskier clings to the hem of Lambert’s pants with the hand that isn’t pinned underneath him. With a snarl, Lambert uses his body to shield Jaskier’s face from the worst of the rockfall.

 

As the castle stops moving around them, and the rumbling grows quiet, Jaskier whimpers in pain. Dust continues to swirl through the air, making him cough, but the weight on his back is crushing. He struggles to breathe, covered in debris from the collapsed wall. There’s a stabbing pain in his ankle, like nothing he’s ever felt before, and he’s pretty sure it’s crushed, just a little bit worse than the rest of him. He holds more tightly to Lambert, a choked cry of pain escaping him.

 

L-Lambert-’

 

‘Oh my god, Jaskier. Fuck- hold on, let me-’

 

He eases away from Jaskier’s grip, surveying the damage. Jaskier can taste blood in his mouth; he’s bitten his tongue. There must be half a wall on his back, because he can’t breathe properly and everything hurts. As Lambert starts to pull away stones one by one, the pile of debris shifts ever so slightly. The weight on Jaskier’s ankle increases and he screams.

 

Fuck!’ Lambert ducks back down, taking Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier can feel how badly he is shaking over his own trembling body. Stripping off his shirt, Lambert tucks it under Jaskier’s head, shielding him from the sharp stones under his cheek. It still smells like soap.

 

‘Hang on Jaskier- it’s going to be okay. Shit, I need- I need help. Stay here. Please- just- fuck.’

 

Drawing away carefully, Jaskier cries as Lambert untangles himself from his grip. With a final agonising look over his shoulder, Lambert sprints out of the hall, disappearing through the boarded up doorway. Sobbing, Jaskier clings to the shirt. He tucks a corner of it into his mouth, sucking on the fabric to distract him from the fear. He has never felt more alone in his life.

 

The silence is deafening, and the darkness presses in around him.

 

Jaskier cries quietly, trapped under the broken ruin of a wall, the heavy weight pinning him in place. He can’t move anything but one arm, the other pinned painfully beneath him. One of his legs is twisted, crushed under the stone. The other, his ankle feels like it’s on fire, the heat and pain radiating through his whole body. His head hurts, and he can see a little trickle of blood pooling on the Lambert’s shirt from somewhere on his head. Or maybe it’s from his mouth. Maybe both. Sharp stones poke into his belly, but the pain doesn’t even register because of how bad everything else hurts. The dust burns his eyes and lungs, but he can’t suck in a proper breath, because he’s being crushed-

 

He cries softly, cuddled up to Lambert’s shirt, a tiny source of comfort as his body screams in pain. He doesn’t want to die here, alone. Not when he’s just found a family. He cries harder.

 

He isn’t sure how long he lays there, but it’s much too long. He’s very cold and he can’t feel his fingers anymore. His head hurts.

 

A voice echoes through the darkness, calling his name. Jaskier tries to focus on it, but it sounds very far away. His ears are still ringing from the sound of the wall collapsing. The voice calls again. Blinking away some of the dust, Jaskier squints, trying to see through the blue haze. His lungs burn and he coughs weakly. As a shock of white hair appears, illuminated by the soft light from above, Jaskier reaches up, desperately crying out with all the strength he has left.

 

DADDY!’

Notes:

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, which is a little bit exciting, so if you haven't left kudos yet and you're enjoying the work, let me know! I also love comments, because it's exciting hearing what you think.

Oh, and I have a tumblr now, so if anyone wants to chat or talk more about baby Jaskier, you can catch me there! @greyshadowfaux

Chapter 15: The Rescue

Notes:

Here Comes Daddy

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

At Jaskier’s struggled cry, Geralt’s snarl can be heard through the darkness.

 

His Daddy has come to rescue him.

 

Vaulting over a chasm in the floor, his Daddy makes a pained noise and drops to his knees beside where Jaskier remains trapped under the weight of the collapsed wall. Even though Jaskier can hear the rumbling growl and see the yellow eyes shining in the darkness, he can’t focus on anything other than the crushing pain. Shallow, panting breaths stir up little clouds of dust around his head. He needs his Daddy right now.

 

‘D-Daddy please, it h-hurts. Daddy-’

 

‘Oh my god, baby. Fuck.’

 

The rumbling voice is the best sound Jaskier’s ever heard in his life.

 

He’s not alone.

 

Daddy p-please-’

 

Hot breath tickles Jaskier’s face, and calloused fingers brush his cheek. His whole body shudders in relief and he keens, leaning into his Daddy’s hand, desperate for warmth. Brushing the hair out of his eyes, his Daddy leans closer, sniffing and licking at every part of Jaskier he can reach.

 

Easy- Daddy’s here now. Daddy’s got you.’

 

The hands are so comforting against the cold and the pain that Jaskier sobs. Licking away his tears, his Daddy speaks soft words of comfort as Jaskier whimpers, unable to speak. With his good hand, Jaskier manages to catch his Daddy's white hair. He tugs, needing to keep him close. With one hand against Jaskier’s cheek, Geralt uses his other to untangle his hair from Jaskier's fingers, replacing it with the shirt beneath his head. Jaskier latches to the fabric as his Daddy leans back to survey the mess.

 

‘Just stay calm pup, hang onto Lambert's shirt. Papa’s gone to get Vesemir. We’ll get you out of there.’ Curling closer to Jaskier, his Daddy licks him again as a second pair of legs appears in his line of sight. There's a low growl from his Daddy, and the legs stop moving.

 

‘Jaskier- I- god I’m so fucking sorry.’

 

‘Get back Lambert.‘

 

The legs move out of sight again, and his Daddy takes a breath, but his teeth are still bared. Terrified and in pain, Jaskier clings to him. He can’t think about Lambert right now, everything is too much and it hurts to breathe. His Daddy strokes his face ever so gently, wiping away some of the blood and tears as he sniffs at the parts of Jaskier he can reach. It’s such a relief, having his Daddy here, that Jaskier presses into the touch as much as he can, desperate. The comfort doesn’t last nearly long enough.

 

When the fingers pull away, Jaskier cries, devastated. He wants the hand back, he needs his Daddy. The touch doesn’t come, and Jaskier trembles. Lambert’s shirt ends up back in his mouth and he suckles on the fabric. He can hear his Daddy talking, but the words sound far away. Frightened and in pain, Jaskier tries his best to focus on the words, his head spinning.

 

‘I’m just here pup. Just breathe, Daddy’s right here. We’re going to get you out of there.’

 

Blinking away the tears, Jaskier watches in despair as his Daddy rocks back on his heels, moving even further away from him. Wiping his hands on his trousers, his Daddy’s face hardens and he hesitates. He looks like he’s struggling with what he has to do next. Standing, he leaves Jaskier with nothing to look at but sharp stones scattered across the floor.

 

‘Okay. Okay- Fuck- Lambert. I need you.’ His Daddy’s voice sounds pained. ‘Stop pacing and come here. Grab this, on three we lift. One, two, three-’

 

There’s a small yip that must come from Lambert, and the two pairs of legs come back into sight. Jaskier screams again as the weight on his back shifts, pain radiating through his body, but his Daddy and Lambert don’t stop.

 

‘Easy pup. I know baby.’ His Daddy speaks reassuring as they work, moving the heavy stones together before starting on the smaller ones. ‘Don’t move little one. Daddy’s going to get you out- Lambert put it there and grab this one, don’t touch anything else yet, it could collapse-’

 

The weight on Jaskier lessens gradually, his screams becoming quiet cries and sobs as he slowly regains the ability to draw air into his lungs. Dropping the shirt from his mouth, Jaskier sucks in as much air as he can, his chest aching as it expands. The dust burns his lungs, and he coughs a little, but he can breathe. As the last stone is lifted away, Jaskier tries to roll off the arm crushed beneath him. He can’t feel his fingers. Pain shoots up his leg when he moves, so severe that his vision darkens around the edges. He tries very hard not to throw up. He fails.

 

Panicking, he starts crying again. He’s made a mess, he’s going to get in trouble-

 

Shit- Lambert get back- Hey baby, easy. Daddy’s here. It’s just a little mess, here- I’ve got you pup.’

 

As his Daddy wipes away the vomit, Jaskier flinches, waiting for the yelling to start. It never does.

 

So gently, Jaskier is wiped down. Once he’s a little cleaner, his Daddy strokes his cheek with a broad thumb and licks away his tears again. ‘There we go pup, just keep breathing, nice and slow. You’re safe now. Daddy’s got you.’

 

Jaskier mewls at the comfort his Daddy gives to him, needing more. Without moving his body, because he can’t, he leans his face into his Daddy’s touch, just a little. The tongue licks over the bump on his head, and his Daddy rocks back on his heels again, making Jaskier cling to his clothing with his good arm.

 

‘Easy little one, Daddy’s not going anywhere, I promise. I just need to have a good look at you, alright? Just breathe for me, and let me know where it hurts.’

 

Gentle hands run over Jaskier’s head, feeling through his hair for injuries before moving down his neck and back, prodding and poking. He sucks in a shaky breath. Everything hurts. As his Daddy reaches carefully beneath him, checking his tummy and ribs, Jaskier’s head spins. He vomits again, the bile spilling over his chin and onto the stone.

 

‘It’s okay pup, just let it out.’ His Daddy stops prodding his belly to wipe him down again, gentling him as he does so. Jaskier leans into the touch, his fingers still clutched in his Daddy’s shirt to keep him close. Once he’s sure Jaskier is settled and breathing properly, his Daddy resumes checking him over. When he pokes a particularly sore spot, Jaskier lets out another cry.

 

Daddy-’

 

‘I know baby, I know. Daddy just need to make sure-’

 

Lifting his head carefully and laying it on a clean part of the shirt, his Daddy’s other hand trails down Jaskier’s back, fingers stepping down his spine, touching him gently. Even though his head is pounding, his ankle is burning and he’s lying in a little puddle of sick, Jaskier keens as his Daddy touches him. He’s safe.

 

‘Is he-?’ Lambert’s words are choked, and he can’t finish the sentence. He’s still hovering just out of sight.

 

‘He’s okay, I think. No broken ribs, and his spine still in once piece- thank fuck- oh his ankle, okay- I see it baby, I’m not going to touch it. Daddy’s going to lift you up now, just keep breathing slowly little one. In and out, up we go.’

 

Jaskier can hear Lambert’s cry of relief.

 

Lifted to his Daddy’s chest, Jaskier yelps. It feels like he’s been stepped on by an elephant. Now that he’s off the ground, he can see Lambert, leaning heavily on the cleared rubble, his eyes damp. Still not wearing a shirt, Lambert's shoulders are sagged and his eyes are locked on Jaskier. He’s clearly been worried sick, but Jaskier still isn’t able to speak; his whole body is screaming in protest as he’s moved, and fresh tears streak down his cheeks from the pain. His Daddy noses at his face and licks away his tears again.

 

‘You’re okay, Jaskier. Daddy’s got you. Fuck. Baby, I was so worried.’

 

Cradled bridal style, Jaskier sobs into his Daddy’s chest, whining in pain and exhaustion. Pressed together, Jaskier can feel his Daddy’s rapid heart beat; because his mind is really struggling to notice anything other than the pain, it takes him a moment to realise that his Daddy was scared too. That thought isn’t comforting in the slightest, and now that he’s safe in his Daddy’s arms, he starts to wail. He's grateful to be very much not dead, but he feels a little sick and floaty, so he can’t be sure. His leg hurts so much, every tiny movement sending shooting pain through his whole body.

 

To his left, Lambert makes another pained noise, pushing himself off the stone. Still keening, the youngest wolf takes a step forward, eyes still locked on Jaskier. Geralt turns and snarls at Lambert. His voice is like sharp ice.

 

Stay the fuck back. If you come anywhere near him right now I will tear out your goddamned throat-

 

Stumbling, Lambert retreats, his eyes shining with tears. ‘I just wanted to show him- I didn’t mean- I’m sorry.’ Lambert’s voice trembles and Jaskier cries even louder.

 

Jaskier wants to tell Lambert that it’s not his fault, that he’s the one that should be sorry, but all he manages is a tiny shake of his head, followed by a pained cry as his entire body throbs painfully. His vision darkens around the edges dangerously. It’s scary, but then his Daddy is with him again, licking his face, and Jaskier hiccups, desperate for the comfort as his vision swims in and out of focus. He tries to focus on his Daddy’s face, his pretty yellow eyes and soft white hair-

 

More voices can be heard echoing through the darkness, but Jaskier can’t focus on them. His body is working on not going into shock from the pain and he can see nothing in this moment but his Daddy. When Lambert whines and takes another tentative step towards them, Geralt lets out a low growl, twisting Jaskier away from Lambert’s raised hand.

 

‘Geralt, please let me scent him-’

 

Get the fuck back Lambert-

 

That’s enough.’ The authority cracks like a whip through the darkness.

 

The growling stops at once, and both men freeze. Stepping around a crumbled pile of stone and still wearing his apron, Vesemir looks scary. His grey hair is pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His pupils are blown wide, and he takes in the scene before him quickly, Jaskier watching from the safety of his Daddy’s arms. His Papa follows on Vesemir’s heels, his red shirt smeared with drying mortar, his own pupils blown wide. When he catches sight of Jaskier, he freezes.

 

‘Baby- oh God, Geralt is he-’

 

At the sight of his Papa, Jaskier swallows down another sharp cry. He wants to reach for him, to be in his Papa’s arms, but he also needs to stay with his Daddy right now. He needs to be safe. Geralt growls again, keeping Jaskier tightly to his chest and Jaskier sobs in confusion and pain.

 

Vesemir stops his Papa from approaching by throwing out a hand. With his other, he gestures for Lambert to come towards him. As Lambert stumbles away from Jaskier and Daddy, his Papa whines, a noise of desperation. He looks like he’s really struggling to stay where Vesemir holds him. Pushing past his Papa, Lambert burrows himself into Vesemir's side, his tears flowing freely now. Jaskier wants to reach for him, to reassure him, but he can’t. He can’t do anything right now except cling to his Daddy.

 

‘Eskel, let Geralt handle the pup for now; I know it’s hard but I don’t want him moved more than absolutely necessary before I’ve had a look at those injuries.’ Vesemir says, his commands echoing around the hall as Lambert cries into his apron. Vesemir’s tone softens, and he strokes over Lambert’s hair. Lambert presses his nose to Vesemir's neck, whinging. 

 

‘Easy, Lamb. Take a deep breath for me, just focus on my scent. Take another breath- There we go, and another- good boy.' Jaskier can see Lambert's shoulders sag as he leans into Vesemir, nosing at his skin. HIs heaving sobs quieten almost instantly. Once he's a little calmer, Vesemir pulls him back by the collar, his voice firm but gentle. 'Now, look at me pup, I know why you brought him down here, but you broke a rule and there will be a punishment.’

 

Jaskier starts to struggle, panicking. He doesn't want Lambert to be punished. Holding Jaskier tightly, his Daddy begins licking him again. The feeling is distracting, and when Jaskier's head throbs and another wave of nausea washes over him, he stops struggling and focuses on staying conscious. He’s vaguely aware of someone talking, and so he tries his very best to focus through the pain, because father says good boys always listen. It’s really hard to do when his head is spinning so fast, but he tries anyway.

 

‘-talk about that later.’ Vesemir says as Lambert continues to sob into his apron. ‘Right now we need to leave, the whole damn ceiling looks like it could come down on top of us. Eskel, go and get the door. Alright pups, move.’

 

Jaskier’s knuckles are white with how tightly he’s holding onto his Daddy’s dusty shirt, and his breathing is more like panting because everything hurts so much. He watches as Vesemir leads the wolves from the crumbling hall. The oldest wolf has one arm around Eskel, the other holding Lambert’s hand. Jaskier is glad Lambert has someone to hold his hand, because he deserves all the nice things. Jaskier wishes he could be the one to do it, but he can’t right now because he needs to stay with Daddy.

 

As his Daddy carries him through the boarded up doorway, he has to lift Jaskier’s bad leg. It hurts so much, that Jaskier screeches. His mind is foggy from pain. It hurts so much- he can’t stay awake any longer- he can’t-

 

Darkness swallows him, and he finally passes out.

Notes:

Woo hoo! So that was fun. Poor little Jaskier went down hard. Lucky Daddy Geralt was there to catch him.

If you liked this, please leave a kudos and a comment, because I live for them. You can also follow me on tumblr, where I'm answering questions about baby Jaskier and his wolves in the form of mini stories, because it's more fun that way.

Tumblr @greyshadowfaux

Chapter 16: Bottles and Broken Bones

Notes:

The wolves deal with the aftermath of Jaskier's accident.

Mentions of child abuse and injuries. And more trauma, because I'm not quite finished whumping the bard just yet. There is also a bit of Vesemir appreciation at the end, because he deserves it.

Jaskier is a little drugged in the first half of the chapter. Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

When Jaskier wakes, he’s naked in the big bed.



There’s a clean diaper around his hips, and he’s laying on a mountain of fluffy, soft pillows. His eyes feel dry, like someone rubbed sand in them, and everything is hazy. He blinks a few times, but the room refuses to come into focus. Not quite understanding why his eyes aren’t working properly, he frowns. He can see the fuzzy outlines of the furniture, so he knows he’s in the bedroom. The curtains are thrown wide to let in all the sunlight. Still frowning, Jaskier grumbles at the window; the light hurts his head.



Idly, he realises that there’s a new chair in the bedroom, beside the dresser with his storybooks. A rocking chair, large and sturdy, with strong arm rests and intricate designs carved into the wood. He wants to play in it. His mama used to have a rocking chair, but he was never allowed near it.

 

It takes Jaskier a moment to register that there is someone in the rocking chair. Daddy. Shirtless and leaning forward, his Daddy has his head in his hands. He looks tired, and there’s something that looks like white powder smeared across one of his arms. Silly Daddy, being all dirty. He tries to get his Daddy’s attention, because he wants a cuddle, but all he manages is a quiet, pained squeak.

 

As the sound escapes his cracked lips, Daddy’s head snaps up and Jaskier startles when something moves on the bed behind him. He can’t remember pillows being able to move. Turning his head a little to see, which, oww- Jaskier realises that it’s a person on the bed with him, not the bed moving. That would make sense. He grumbles when he feels the touch of a thumb against his cheek. His face hurts, too. When did everything get so sore? Jaskier’s head throbs, and his mind moves slowly, like treacle on a cold day. Thinking hurts, so he stops. 

 

The scarred face of his Papa comes into focus above him, looking concerned but relieved at the same time. His Papa has dried mortar in his hair, just like Daddy. And just like Daddy, Papa isn’t wearing a shirt. Jaskier doesn’t mind, and the broad expanse of olive skin looks very inviting. Unable to lift himself so that he can cuddle into his Papa’s chest, because his arms don’t seem to be working, Jaskier lets out a small noise of frustration. He wants to be picked up, to be closer, but all he can do it whimper. He lets out another soft cry, and his Papa licks at the side of his face.

 

‘Oh baby, don’t move. You had an accident-’

 

An accident?

 

That would probably explain why he feels like he’s been squished, and why his head seems to be throbbing in time with his heartbeat- which isn’t pleasant at all. It also explains why it hurts when he breathes too deeply, like he fell down the stairs. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, everything hurts a little bit, like a dull ache all over. He doesn’t like it, so he whimpers with a little more emphasis. His Papa nuzzles at the back of his head as the rocking chair squeaks, and his Daddy gets up.

 

Daddy,’ He croaks, elated that he manages to get out the most important words in the whole universe.

 

‘Oh baby. I’m right here. Daddy's here.’ Coming to kneel beside the bed, his Daddy smiles. Even with a smile, Daddy looks exhausted. He has dark circles under his eyes, and his hair is full of more of that white powder, great clumps of it hanging off a loose strand. Taking Jaskier’s hand, his Daddy wraps large, calloused fingers around Jaskier’s smaller ones. Daddy has really big hands.

 

The touch makes Jaskier incredibly happy, and he tries to let out a chirrup and lift his head. He makes a strangled sort of hiccupping sound instead, and his head is much heavier than he ever remembers it being before. His Daddy licks over his fingers, nosing at the back of his hand. It’s warm, and Jaskier likes the feeling. He wriggles his fingers and tries to catch his Daddy’s tongue, but his fingers don’t want to cooperate either. His Daddy licks him again, and Jaskier thinks that his tongue is rough, and not like a people tongue at all. That would make sense, he supposes, because his Daddy isn’t a people. He’s a hero.

 

‘Just rest, baby. You broke your ankle, and you’re a little bruised. Daddy needs you to rest.’

 

That doesn’t sound right, because surely if he broke a leg it would hurt more, but his Daddy looks serious and his ankle does feel kind of funny. Jaskier tries to wiggle his toes, but it hurts so he stops. He realises belatedly that his Daddy and his Papa are both licking him. He doesn’t protest. He’s much too sleepy, and really happy to have Daddy and Papa near him. His head feels fuzzy, like he’s being swallowed by the big fluffy pillows beneath him. It wouldn’t be so bad, he supposes. Being eaten by pillows.

 

He drifts in and out of sleep as Daddy and Papa continue to lick him, tending to all the places on his body that hurt. His ankle, which, even though it’s throbbing the most badly of all his hurties, feels snug, as though it’s been wrapped tightly. Like a present. Jaskier likes presents. His Papa gives him the best presents. He bought Jaskier crayons and Mr Wolfe and his paci. His Daddy isn’t so good with presents, because he gives smacks. But Daddy does like to read him stories, and Daddy is good at making up exciting tales about dragons and bards, so he’s forgiven for the smacks. When his Papa rolls him a little onto his side, licking at his shoulder, Jaskier lets out a soft cry of pain. He can feel the hurties everywhere.

 

It’s painfully familiar.

 

His Papa’s tongue makes them feel better, and the sleepiness creeps in once more. He watches his Daddy’s pretty yellow eyes until his own eyelids grow too heavy.

 

He’s in the Library.

 

He loves the library, there are so many places to hide. He likes it under the desk best, because he can see out, but others can’t see in. It’s like a big cocoon, hugging him and protecting him. It’s a little dark under the desk , but that’s okay because it’s for hiding . From his little cubby -hole, Jaskier can see almost all of the library, sprawling out like a maze around him, tall shelves towering overhead .

 

He can see the fireplace, though the fire isn’t going, which means the room is cold. Ash sits around blackened coals in the hearth, the large rug on the stone floor dotted with small burns from spitting logs. There is a frosty breeze flowing in through the open window on the opposite wall, the red curtains fluttering like his mama’s skirts when she walks past him. The stone under his knees is a little hard, and his fancy clothes aren’t quite enough to stop him from shivering, but he continues on with his task anyway, determined. He’s used to the cold; no one ever lights the fire in his bedroom, because it’s a waste of wood.

 

The large oak shelves are stacked high with magnificent books of all sizes and colours. He’s managed to scavenge a pen and a scrap of paper from his father’s office , and he’s sitting on the floor, his legs crossed, and his tongue poking out in concentration. Beside him, sticking out from under the desk a little so he can use the light to see the page , is a book. He can’t read the words, but the pictures are wonderful. He wishes he could show Pogo. Pogo always loved stories.

 

Gripping the pen more tightly, he wipes away his tears and focuses on the task at hand. He misses Pogo so badly it’s like a chronic pain in his tummy that won’t go away. He’s so lonely, and he wishes on the first star he sees every single night that his Mama will bring Pogo back to him . She hasn’t yet, but that’s probably because she’s busy. She’s always busy.

 

He’s trying to draw the picture of the dragon, because it’s big and strong, and it can fly away. He loves dragons, and hopes that one day he can climb the biggest mountain in the continent so that he can find one. He’ll draw a picture of it to bring home for his Mama. She might even give him a hug and tell him he did a good job. He really hopes so.

 

The library door slams open, making the shelves rattle. The sound of stomping footsteps approach, and Jaskier quickly shuffles back into the corner under the desk, dragging the book with him. Pressing his back into the hard corner of the desk, he hides, holding his breath-

 

His father finds him.

 

There you are! Insolent little brat- you were supposed to be downstairs ten minutes ago! The tutor is waiting, and you are making us look bad! And look at this mess! You think it’s okay to leave all this shit on the floor? Do you?! Stupid child. GET UP!

 

As his father raises his fist, Jaskier jerks awake, screaming.

 

The wolves both startle, sharing a wild look of concern as Jaskier thrashes, trying to get away. Jaskier squirms, panicking. He needs to clean up his mess, he needs to get downstairs. He needs to get away- Everything hurts but he mustn’t cry-

 

‘Easy pup, you’re safe.’ Says a low voice, and someone strokes over his hair, just the way Jaskier likes. Someone else holds his legs still, stopping him from kicking. Tired and in pain, he stops thrashing, though the tears continue to run down his cheeks and his heart jackrabbits in his chest.

 

‘Shh little one, you’re okay. Papa’s got you. And Daddy’s here too. You’re safe, just breathe pup.’ The voice is gentle, soothing. ‘I see what you mean about the nightmares, christ.’

 

Strong arms wrap around him, and Jaskier recognises his Papa’s scent, like pine and wood-smoke. His Papa noses against him, trying to settle him. Blinking away his tears, his head pounding painfully, Jaskier sucks in a heaving breath, trembling, memories of his accident coming back to him all at once as his ankle twinges painfully, the heat radiating up his leg and through his entire body. His Papa noses him again, a gentle nudge, and Jaskier takes a breath.

 

Good boy, just breathe. You're safe.’

 

He’s okay.

 

He’s in Kaer Morhen, not in Lettenhove. He hasn’t been beaten, it was an accident. He’s with his Papa and his Daddy and not with his father. He’s safe.

 

His body doesn’t get the memo, and prickles of fear continue to snake through his veins as his heart pounds in his chest. Stroking through his hair, Eskel continues to soothe him as he shakes and cowers. Seeing a shock of white hair, Jaskier reaches out. He doesn’t care that he’s in pain, he needs to be held. And it needs to be Geralt. Geralt is safe.

 

‘D-Daddy, up.’

 

Still kneeling beside the bed, Geralt’s eyes widen. With a quick look at Eskel, Geralt stands, lifting Jaskier slowly off his mountain of pillows. He’s very gentle, one strong hand resting under Jaskier’s bottom, the other spread across his shoulders. The movement sends another shock wave of pain through him, but he is too desperate to be close to Daddy to acknowledge it.

 

‘Be careful of his ankle.’ Eskel says as Geralt lifts him.

 

Geralt is, and Jaskier is tucked into the warmth of his bare chest. Skin to skin with his Daddy, Jaskier sighs. He’s safe. The smell of his Daddy is comforting, and he breathes in the scent, his body relaxing. His head still feels a little floaty, but nothing like when he last woke up. The pain is worse now, too. Whatever was in his system before, only lingering traces remain. Judging by the pinks and purples outside, it’s almost evening, so he’s been sleeping for a few hours at least. Geralt pats his bottom gently, rocking slowly.

 

‘There we go, good boy Jaskier. Daddy’s got you.’

 

‘Oh little one.’ Eskel’s voice is soft, and Jaskier hears the sound of fabric rustling as the bed moves. He flinches a little when his Papa’s hand trail over his side, but settles quickly, his Daddy pressing kisses to his head. His Papa makes a pained noise. ‘What did they do to you baby?’

 

‘I don’t know.’ Geralt says, his voice a low growl, ‘but it must have been horrific. I'm going to find who did this to him, Esk. He's fucking terrified. That’s the second nightmare in as many days.’ As Jaskier lets out another soft cry, Geralt kisses him again. ‘Daddy’s got you Jaskier, you’re safe.’

 

Jaskier’s lip wobbles and he hides his face, unable to look at either of them. Daddy and Papa know he’s broken, and they won’t want him anymore. He can’t stop his eyes from filling with tears as he lets out a loud, distressed wail. Unperturbed, Geralt nuzzles into his hair, his voice rumbling.

 

'I love you, Jaskier. Daddy will protect you.’

 

Jaskier howls; heart-wrenching, body shaking sobs that let everyone know just how broken he is. He doesn’t deserve love, he was badHe left his crib when Vesemir told him to stay. He played with Lambert while his Papa wasn’t there to tell him it was okay. He snuck out of the hall. He went out of bounds and got hurt. It’s all his fault. It's always his fault.

 

Crying makes him hurt, but he can’t stop. He can feel the snot bubble forming at his nose, and he’s drooling all over his Daddy’s chest, but he can’t stop. Trying to get himself under control and failing, Jaskier pulls away from Geralt, feeling ashamed and broken. He doesn’t deserve comfort. With a large hand across his shoulder, Geralt pulls him back, holding him tighter. Nosing at the back of his neck, his Papa’s large hands wrap around him, cocooning Jaskier between the two wolves. Jaskier cries earnestly, surrounded by warmth he doesn’t deserve. Eskel trails fingers over his spine.

 

‘Oh baby you’re so bruised. Are you sure he didn’t break any ribs?’ His Papa asks, his voice full of concern.

 

‘I’m sure. He’s just scared.’ Geralt says, ‘Vesemir thought he might respond like this if he woke up in pain, and said to let him cry it out. The book says he’ll need lots of reassurance and support. Here, grab me a wipe-’

 

Eskel hums, grabbing a wet-wipe from the dresser. His Daddy takes it and holds it to Jaskier’s nose.

 

‘Blow for me. Big blow- good boy, there we go- you’re okay.’ Taking away the snot filled wipe, Geralt tosses it in the bin. Jaskier sniffles, tears continuing to fall. With one hand, Geralt tucks his head against his chest, hushing him. ‘There there, you have a good cry. Vesemir will be up soon, he’s just with Lambert-’

 

Geralt pauses mid sentence, shaking his head, and Eskel looks at him quizzically. When Geralt speaks again, his voice is rough. ‘I nearly skinned the pup alive when I found Jaskier under that wall, Esk. It was too close.’

 

Eskel, wiping away Jaskier tears with a thumb, uses his other hand to lift Geralt’s chin so that they are looking at each other. ‘But you didn’t, wolf. You got Jaskier out safe, and you kept Lambert calm, even though I could smell his distress all through the keep.’ Eskel says kindly, caressing the side of Geralt’s face. ‘You saved our pup, and you can apologise to Lambert for snapping.’

 

Geralt hums, nuzzling into the touch. ‘How is he?’

 

‘Not great,’ Eskel admits quietly, ‘Vesemir’s been with him since it happened, but he dropped hard, wolf, harder than I’ve ever seen. I think he finally opened up about Aiden. Then- then Jaskier got hurt. I can’t even imagine what that would have done to him-’

 

A fresh wave of tears make their way down Jaskier’s cheeks, and his Papa stops talking, looking apologetic. Instead of getting frustrated or angry, Daddy makes soft, soothing noises and brushes Jaskier’s hair from his face, which is stuck to his cheeks with snot and tears. His Papa gets another wipe.

 

‘Lambert’s okay pup.’ His Papa says, cleaning Jaskier’s face for the third time. ‘He’s tough. Tougher than us, even, so don’t you worry. Vesemir was feeding him a bottle when I left.’

 

Exhausted, Jaskier hiccups, his sobs quietening to whimpers as he snuggles into his Daddy. Papa snuggles into Daddy too, kissing and licking him and keeping Jaskier safely between them. Now that he knows Lambert is okay, and his Daddy and Papa aren't mad at him, Jaskier feels oddly calm. His body is aching, though, a sea of bruises across his back and legs. He lets out a pained whimper, his ankle throbbing, and the wolves break apart. Geralt resumes the patting of his bottom.

 

‘Vesemir is bringing you something for the pain pup, I promise. You can’t have too much too soon though, so just hang on to Daddy for a little while longer.’ Geralt says gently, adjusting his hold on Jaskier so that he’s more comfortable. When Jaskier stops fussing, Geralt carries him across the room. With a grunt, he settles them into the rocking chair.

 

Resting against his Daddy’s bare chest, the gentle rocking motion combined with bottom pats, Jaskier drifts. He’s so tired, but he’s in too much pain to sleep. He focuses on the feeling of his Daddy’s skin beneath his face and the rocking movement of the chair. The backwards and forwards motion is gentle, and Jaskier closes his eyes. He really likes the rocking chair.

 

The chittering of evening birds can be heard outside the bedroom window, interrupted only by the rhythmic squeaking of the chair. Jaskier stifles a yawn, curling his fingers through his Daddy’s white chest hair. So long as he keeps still, the pain is bearable, and his Daddy is warm. They stay together like that until the pink fades to orange, and the first star appears in the sky outside. Eskel’s rumbling chuckle breaks the easy silence.

 

‘You look good with him, Daddy.’

 

Kneeling by the fire, Eskel’s eyes glitter in the firelight. The scars pull at his lip when he smiles. Geralt lets out a happy rumbling purr and a hum, pressing a kiss into Jaskier’s hair as the rocking chair squeaks in time with the gentle movements. Jaskier lets out a soft gurgle, his whole body throbbing. He can feel the sweat beading on his forehead from the pain.

 

‘His pain is getting worse.’ Eskel says, scenting the air and getting to his feet. ‘He needs his next dose.’

 

Next dose? Yes please.

 

‘Vesemir is bringing it up, he should be here any moment.’ Geralt says quietly, continuing to rock back and forth, patting Jaskier’s bottom. Soon enough, there is a quiet knock on the bedroom door, interrupting the whispered conversation and the pats to his bottom. Jaskier whinges.

 

‘Shh pup, here we go.’ Geralt says, and the patting resumes. ‘Come in.’

 

Watching sleepily as Lambert pokes his head through the door, Jaskier perks up. Lambert hovers in the doorway, looking uncertain. When Vesemir grows impatient, Lambert stumbles forward from the gentle shove.

 

‘In you go, quickly now.’ Vesemir says, following Lambert into the room and shutting the door to keep in the warmth. Slung over Vesemir’s shoulder is Lambert’s soft blue blanket, and he looks just as tired as Daddy and Papa. ‘I brought Jaskier his bottle, and Lambert needs to see the pup.’

 

Stumbling a little and sniffing the air, Lambert approaches the chair cautiously, not making eye contact with anyone. Wearing nothing but a diaper, even Jaskier can tell immediately just how far Lambert’s dropped. His shoulders are hunched, and he’s carrying something in his hands, cuddled to his chest. He’s limping quite badly, and there’s a pink flush to his cheeks. His eyes are rimmed with red, and it’s clear that he’s been crying. A spark of guilt erupts in Jaskier’s chest.

 

His fault.

 

He needs to fix it.

 

From where he’s nestled against Geralt’s chest, Jaskier tries to sit up. It’s important Lambert knows Jaskier doesn’t blame him one bit for the stupid wall falling down, and that he’s so so so sorry Lambert got a spanking for it. Apparently, sitting up is out of the question. Holding Jaskier down with a hand on his back, Geralt’s lip twists into a snarl when Lambert gets too close.

 

Eskel sighs, and Vesemir finally loses his patience.

 

Geralt, that’s enough. If you growl at him again I will tether you in the yard and you can sleep with the damn goat. Lambert’s already been punished and forgiven, and if you don’t apologise and let him sit with Jaskier I will take both pups myself.’

 

Geralt hangs his head at once, looking chastised. ‘Sorry, Vesemir.’

 

‘Don’t apologise to me. Apologise to Lambert.’

 

Coming to stand beside Lambert, Vesemir rests a hand on his shoulder. Seeking reassurance, Lambert nuzzles into the touch. Eskel takes one look at him hiding behind Vesemir and approaches slowly, talking to him as one might talk to a startled animal.

 

‘Hey Lamb. It's good to see you. Did you enjoy your bottle? It’s not often Papa Vesemir gets you into diapers, is it?’ Eskel says softly to Lambert, reaching out to stroke his hair. Rather than answering, Lambert sticks the ear of the stuffed animal into his mouth and hides his face in Vesemir’s side. ‘You did the right thing today, coming to find us. Thank you, Lamb. Jaskier is very lucky to have you.’

 

Lambert whimpers, clutching the toy closer and shaking his head into Vesemir’s side as Eskel strokes his hair, whispering sweet words of encouragement. Vesemir sighs, turning back to Geralt.

 

‘Both pups have been through something traumatic today,’ Vesemir says as Eskel continues to comfort Lambert. ‘I want them together; Lambert needs to see that the pup is alright, and I daresay Jaskier feels the same. Geralt, prop him up. I’ve added a little more opium to his bottle to help with the pain, that ankle is broken quite badly but the splint should hold. It’ll also help with the bruising. Quickly, boy, otherwise I warmed his milk for nothing.’

 

Vesemir peels Lambert off his side. ‘Lambert, up you go, there’s room in that chair for two pups, and I think Jaskier wants to see you. Be very careful of him, and don’t touch his leg.’

 

Geralt sniffs as Lambert approaches, and shifts Jaskier a little so that he’s sitting up. The movement hurts, but Jaskier really needs Lambert closer, so he swallows down his whimpers. The rocking stops as Geralt leans forward, looking apologetic.

 

‘I’m so sorry Lamb,’ Geralt says sincerely ‘I was stressed, and I didn’t mean to snap at you. That doesn’t make it better, but I hope you can forgive me.’

 

Lambert nods, shuffling from foot to foot. He’s eager to get nearer to Jaskier, and the feeling is mutual, Jaskier whining from his position against Geralt’s chest. Geralt pats his knee, an invitation.

 

‘Come up here pup, just be gentle with Jaskier.’

 

Lambert gives a small chirrup, and toddles forward. Though Jaskier’s limbs are heavy, the moment Lambert is close enough, he reaches out a shaky hand, and his fingers entwine with Lambert’s. He wants to kiss him and cuddle him and tell him how sorry he is about Aiden. He want’s to say that he forgives him for the accident, that is wasn’t his fault, that he loves him, but all that comes out is a quiet whimper.

 

He hopes it conveys everything that he needs it to.

 

With a small keening noise, Lambert clambers up. Geralt grunts as he is unceremoniously kneed in the groin, ‘Gentle- Lamb, fuck.’

 

Mewling, Lambert latches to Jaskier like a limpet immediately, sniffing and giving him small licks under his chin. Holding Lambert by the scruff to ensure he doesn’t climb on top of Jaskier, Geralt gives his own rumbling purr, much deeper than Lambert’s small rumbles. Even though Jaskier wants to paw at Lambert, to touch him and kiss him with fervour, the most he can manage is a tiny smile, squeezing Lambert’s fingers. Lambert lets out a happy chirrup, and licks Jaskier more enthusiastically. Feeling as though a weight has been lifted off his chest, Jaskier finds it’s suddenly easier to breathe.



‘See Lamb, he’s alright.’ Geralt says gently, nosing at Lambert’s hair. The sound of purring intensifies, and Lambert mewls again. Cuddling as close to Jaskier as possible, Lambert continues to rub against him, sniffing and licking. He finally settles himself into the crook of Geralt’s arm, his head tucked under Jaskier’s chin, and with a sigh, Lambert’s whole body shudders and relaxes.

 

‘Be careful of his backside.’ Vesemir says as Geralt moves his hand from Lambert’s neck to tuck it under his bottom, holding him steady. Lambert whimpers a little at the touch, so Geralt settles on the small of his back instead. Vesemir lets out a low hum, bowing his head slightly. ‘I assure you, he won’t ever take Jaskier out of bounds again.’



Lambert sniffles, hiding his face in the toy he’s still holding. Up close, the toy looks a little ragged; it seems to be missing an ear and Jaskier can see the stitching coming apart in several places. It looks like a stuffed cat, faded black and worn with age. Jaskier doesn’t get any more time to contemplate the little cat, because the bottle is pressed to his lips. He opens eagerly, having had quite enough of being in pain for one afternoon. Sucking hungrily on the soft rubber, he swallows down the mixture quickly, ignoring the bitterness.



Good boy Jaskier.’ Geralt praises, and Jaskier’s tummy does a happy little flip inside him, his pain already beginning to fade as the opium in the bottle takes effect. When Geralt nuzzles into his hair, kissing his forehead, Jaskier lets out a huff, feeling warm and content. Lambert gives a sad little whine, so Geralt kisses him too.



Tucking the blue blanket around both Jaskier and Lambert, Vesemir runs thick fingers through Lambert’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and the sound of purring intensifies. Jaskier can feel Lambert’s leg twitch where their knees are pressed together in Geralt’s lap. Eskel watches them all with a tired fondness, his eyes catching the firelight. Sitting heavily on the bed, Eskel rubs a hand over the scar on his cheek and exhales, sounding exhausted.



‘My bed, tonight I think. For all of you.’ Vesemir says, pulling away from Lambert to approach Eskel, who looks up eagerly, his eyes lighting up at the offer. 'There's a spare crib in there for Jaskier, and I want all three of you to get a good night sleep, it’s been a stressful day. I’ll watch over the pup.'



Geralt rumbles his agreement, the vibrations tickling Jaskier’s body as Eskel lets out a breathy little ‘yes please.’ As Vesemir sits down on the bed, he groans, the soft mattress dipping further. Without a word, he lifts his arm and Eskel snuggles against his side, rubbing his face against Vesemir’s shirt. Eskel purrs when Vesemir presses a kiss to the scar on the side of his face. The kiss turns into gentle licks, and Vesemir lathes over the twisted scars as Eskel’s shoulder’s slump, the tension draining away. Vesemir gives a quiet hum, pressing his nose to Eskel’s neck.



‘Sweet pup. If only they were all as well behaved as you.’ Vesemir says quietly with a small chuckle.



Geralt lets out a quiet snort as Eskel blushes. Jaskier watches sleepily from Daddy’s lap as Eskel hurries to lick under Vesemir’s chin, making a soft chirrup that Jaskier hasn’t heard his Papa make before. It’s a happy noise, and Jaskier likes it when his Papa is happy. Nuzzling against Lambert, a feeling of warmth spreads from Jaskier’s fingers to his toes as his Papa chirrups again. With a rumbling purr, Vesemir tilts his head back, and, encouraged, Eskel licks him again, his own deep rumble joining the chorus of purring wolves. Vesemir and Eskel settle onto the pillows on the bed, licking and nipping at each other affectionately.

 

The gentle hum of purring and the crackle of the fire is disturbed only by the suckling sounds made by Jaskier still latched to his bottle. The light outside grows darker as condensation builds on the window, and in the distance Jaskier can hear the soft chirping of crickets. All of the tension of the day drains away, and Jaskier is content and safe; warm against Geralt’s bare chest, with Lambert nestled beside him, the soft blanket tucked around them both.

 

Watching his Papa nuzzling with Vesemir on the bed, Jaskier yawns around the teat of his bottle, a little of the milk dribbling down his chin. His Daddy wipes it away with a thumb, tilting the bottle higher so Jaskier can drink his fill. Little noises of contentment leave his throat of their own accord, the pain ebbing away with every mouthful. His Daddy gives a soft, rumbling laugh as Jaskier makes a particularly enthusiastic sound.



Nestled so close that his warm breath rustles Jaskier’s eyelashes, Lambert’s purring quietens as his eyelids droop. Jaskier feels a similar heaviness settle deep into his bones, and he struggles to finish his milk, his eyes closing as he feels the steady beating of his Daddy’s heart against his cheek. As his head drops forward, resting against Lambert, the bottle is taken away, and there is a gentle clunk as his Daddy sets it on the dresser.

 

‘Sleep pup, Daddy will be here when you wake up.’

 

As hard as he tries to fight, because he wants to stay here forever, Jaskier falls into a doze, safe and warm.

Notes:

I'm speechless (Much like baby Lambert in this chapter). Thank you for all the love.

For extra snippets of life with the wolves, check out my tumblr! @greyshadowfaux

Chapter 17: The Witcher's Pup

Notes:

A big thank you to the very amazing what_about_the_fish, for reading this over while I struggled.

I do apologise, because this chapter took me way longer than anticipated, and if I never have to edit again I will die happy.

As always, please enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Enjoying his sunbeam, Jaskier suckles on his pacifier, Mr Wolfe dozing on his chest.



The chickens are clucking, the birds are singing and the picnic rug (which may have belonged to a horse in a past life, if the smell is anything to go by) is rough against Jaskier’s back. The thick fabric keeps him off the cobblestone, and Jaskier is enjoying his outside time beneath the weathered walls of Kaer Morhen. 



Beside him on the horse rug, Papa is reading a book, his fingers trailing through Jaskier’s hair. It feels wonderful, and Jaskier leans into the gentle touches. Occasionally his Papa hums, or stops petting Jaskier to turn a page. On the opposite side of the courtyard, Vesemir is tending to the vegetable garden; the radishes Jaskier helped to plant are now poking through the soil, and Jaskier is delighted to see that slimy has been eating well, little teeth-marks in all of the leaves. Daddy is milking Lil Bleater; he’s in charge of supervising as Lambert climbs a stack of hay-bales like a jungle gym.

 

Since his accident, Jaskier has been stuck to Geralt like a barnacle. He and Lambert have also been inseparable, which is why Jaskier now spends most nights in a spare crib in Vesemir’s bedroom. With Jaskier safely in his crib, Papa and Daddy groom each other by the fire as Vesemir dozes in his armchair.

 

Close enough that they can hold hands through the bars, Lambert and Jaskier share whispered conversations from their respective cribs; so far there have been lots of apologies, a little bit of crying, and a quiet hand-job that Jaskier will remember till the end of his days. 

 

The thought makes Jaskier squirm, and his Papa raises an eyebrow over his book.

 

‘Jask, look!’ 



Covered in straw and dressed in his overalls, Lambert waves from the topmost hay-bale.

 

Helping Mr Wolfe to wave back, Jaskier kicks his good leg excitedly, gurgling around his pacifier. Lambert’s smile always makes his heart flutter, and today is the best Lambert’s been since The Incident. Back in pull-ups (Jaskier knows because he watched Vesemir chase Lambert, naked and squealing, through the hall this morning, trying to get him dressed), Lambert waddles across the hay-bale, chirruping with joy. Watching Lambert play, Papa still stroking through his hair, Jaskier relaxes.



Setting aside his book, Eskel scents the air, his eyes shining. Jaskier grumbles as his diaper is opened, his most delicate parts exposed to the sunshine. The breeze on his wet skin makes him shiver. Leg strapped tightly from ankle to knee, he isn’t in much of a position to struggle as Eskel fusses over him. With a rumbling noise of approval, his Papa strokes over Jaskier’s bare thigh with a calloused thumb.  



‘Such a good boy, Jaskier, going all by yourself. That’s twice now. Papa is so proud of you.’ 



Jaskier preens. 



‘Oh you are a wet pup.’ Kneeling between Jaskier’s legs, a swatch of dark chest hair is visible when his Papa leans down. Jaskier likes his Papa’s checkered shirt; it’s much nicer than the horrid maroon sweater Vesemir is wearing. Yesterday, Jaskier saw Vesemir wearing a vest, and he is now convinced Vesemir has a whole wardrobe full of ugly clothing. Keeping with tradition, Daddy is wearing black today, his jeans hugging his hips as he sits on the little stool to milk.

 

Babbling happily around his pacifier, Jaskier plays with Mr Wolfe as his Papa changes him. Over his Papa’s shoulder, Jaskier watches Geralt trip over the milking stool in his hurry to stop Lambert from taking a flying leap off the hay. Dragging Lambert down, struggling and squealing, Geralt scolds him. When Lambert attempts to kick Geralt in the shins, Geralt scruffs him. Falling limp, Lambert scowls until he’s deposited on the ground. With one last glare at Geralt, he scampers away towards the chicken yard, leaving Geralt to collect the pails of milk.  



Carefully lifting Jaskier’s hips in a way that doesn’t bump his injured leg, his Papa sets aside the wet diaper, lowering Jaskier’s bare bottom onto the horse rug. When the scratchy fabric brushes his testicles, Jaskier grumbles. His Papa’s fingers trace gently over the skin of his belly, where the worst of the bruises are finally starting to fade. The vibrant purples have faded to ugly yellows and splotchy greens, and Jaskier looks forward to the day he isn’t forced to wear a reminder of The Incident



Vesemir says Jaskier broke his leg in two different places. Two. Vesemir also says that if Jaskier ever goes out of bounds again he will get the spanking of a lifetime, broken bones or not. Jaskier doesn’t want a spanking, so he’s been on his best behaviour. 



Mostly. 



The first night Vesemir didn’t put opium in his bottle, Jaskier noticed right away. He threw a tantrum; his leg hurt and he wanted to feel good. Papa and Daddy didn’t get any sleep at all that night, and Jaskier screamed so hard he vomited. In the early hours of the morning he finally drifted to sleep, curled on Geralt’s chest with a strong hand patting his bottom. 



‘Looking so much better.’ His Papa says softly, pulling out the little pot of healing salve from the diaper bag that’s followed Jaskier to the garden. Jaskier happens to agree, though he grumbles as his Papa puts the pot down on the rug, bending low to begin cleaning Jaskier with his tongue.

 

Winding fingers into his Papa’s hair, Jaskier sucks hard on his pacifier as his back arches. He’s still not sure how he feels about the wolves insistence on grooming him in this manner, and Eskel cleans him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He knows he will be left hard and aching, brought to the edge and then tucked into a clean diaper. Thankfully, Lambert is there to help him. So long as Jaskier finishes all his bottles, his Papa seems more settled with them being together. 



Daddy’s booming voice rings through the stony courtyard.



LAMBERT!’



Papa stops licking Jaskier clean to watch the miniature rooster sprint across the yard, tail feathers fluttering and Geralt’s ankles firmly in its sights. Standing by the open gate to the chicken yard, grinning victoriously, is Lambert. 



With a flying leap, the rooster lunges at Geralt with its talons.

 

Cursing, Geralt dodges to the side, and the rooster misses him. Landing, it puffs itself up before pouncing again. Geralt tries to catch it, but comes away with nothing but a handful of feathers. With an indignant squawk, the rooster dives between Geralt’s legs to evade another attempt at capture and pecks him on the calf. Getting more and more frustrated by the minute, Geralt dances to avoid the vicious attack, trying to pin the rooster down. 



Doubled over, tears streaming down his face, Lambert clutches his stomach, howling with laughter. With a squeal of excitement, Jaskier props himself up on his elbows to watch the fluffy rooster chase his Daddy around the yard. It’s just as funny as Jaskier always hoped it would be, and though he’s decidedly more attached to Geralt now than he was, the rooster is barely a foot tall, and Jaskier isn’t worried about his Daddy getting hurt. Chuckling, Papa presses a hand to Jaskier’s chest, forcing him to lay back down. 



‘Stay down baby, Papa’s just going to put on your cream.’ 



The salve is cold against his belly, and Jaskier grumbles, straining his neck to continue watching his Daddy fight a chicken.



‘Get off you bastard bird!’ Geralt yells as the bird pecks him again. ‘VESEMIR!’



Feathers all over the cobblestone, Geralt finally manages to catch the rooster. For something so small, it’s surprisingly fast. Tucking the loudly protesting bird under one arm, Geralt storms towards the chicken yard and Lambert. With a yip, Lambert turns tail and runs. 



Vesemir catches him. 



Holding Lambert around the middle, Vesemir yanks down his trousers and pull-up in one swift motion. He plants four hard smacks to Lambert’s bare bottom, two on each cheek. Lambert wiggles and squeals as the smacks land, his skin flushing pink. The sound cracks through the air, broken only by Vesemir’s scolding. ‘Naughty pup! How many times, Lambert? How many times have I told you not to let the damn rooster out?’ 



Tugging Lambert’s trousers back into place, Vesemir lets him go. Rubbing his backside, Lambert sniffles and makes a beeline for Jaskier. Shutting the gate before any more chickens can escape, Geralt throws the rooster unceremoniously back over the fence as Lambert drops to his knees on the horse rug, sulking. Snuggling into Jaskier’s side, Lambert noses against him as Eskel places a clean diaper under Jaskier’s bottom, fastening the straps around his waist.

 

Still cuddling Mr Wolfe, Jaskier tilts his head back so that Lambert can press against his neck. Scenting is something Lambert likes to do when he’s sad or grumpy, and while Jaskier doesn’t quite understand, he likes that he can help Lambert feel better. It works, and with a rumbling purr, Lambert’s sniffles quieten and he licks a small stripe up the side of Jaskier’s neck in gratitude.

 

When Eskel pulls a onesie from the diaper bag that Jaskier hasn’t seen before, he makes a noise of interest. It looks like a bear, scruffy and brown with a little tail on the back. Reaching for it, Jaskier latches on once he realises just how soft it is. Leaving Jaskier to play with the onesie, Eskel reaches for the diaper bag again. Jaskier frowns when he sees what his Papa has in his hands.



 The headband is a little much. 



‘You look so sweet! My beautiful pup.’ Eskel praises, adjusting the bear ears on Jaskier’s head. Jaskier lives for their praise, and he stops scowling to enjoy it. His Papa tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, and Jaskier gurgles happily as he gets a kiss on the head, between his new ears. If wearing the headband means he gets more kisses, Jaskier will tolerate it. Eskel looks thrilled, and coos at him, tickling his bare tummy. ‘Papa’s little cub.’



Skel.’ Lambert says, sounding rather grumpy. Pushing his own head forward, Lambert looks at Eskel expectantly. Eskel kisses him too. Jealous, Jaskier whines and tugs on his Papa’s shirt to get more kisses for himself. It quickly becomes a small tug of war, Eskel trying to soothe them both.



‘They are ready for a nap.’ Vesemir says, approaching their sunny corner of the courtyard. His shadow blocks Jaskier’s sunbeam, and Jaskier grumbles, both because Vesemir is blocking his warmth and because he doesn’t need a nap. ‘Let’s get them inside, early lunch.’ Vesemir continues, ‘I’ve been cooking all morning, and I don’t want them falling asleep at the table.’  



Bending to detach Lambert from Jaskier, Vesemir straightens, sitting Lambert on his hip. Sticking a thumb into his mouth, Lambert snuggles into his side as Vesemir pats his bottom. Annoyed that Lambert has been stolen from him, Jaskier whines, kicking his good leg as his Papa wrestles him into the outfit.



Jaskier’s mood brightens considerably as he’s carried inside for lunch; dressed in the softest garment he’s ever owned, he giggles as his Daddy makes faces at him from over Papa’s shoulder. 



The kitchen is cozy, and the smell of Vesemir’s cooking makes Jaskier’s mouth water. The little pot of mint is thriving now that Jaskier’s pet snail has been moved to the yard to eat the radishes, and Jaskier can hear the birds still bickering outside the kitchen window. 



From his vantage point on his Papa’s knee, Jaskier can see the whole kitchen; the picture he drew of his Papa and Slimy is still on the fridge, next to a crayon rendition of Vesemir by Lambert. Wiping the dirt from Lambert’s fingers, Vesemir settles him down in his chair opposite Jaskier. Looking bored and tired, Lambert sticks his thumb back into his mouth, elbows splaying as he flops onto the table dejectedly. When Vesemir hands him his stuffed cat, Lambert uses it as a pillow, purring softly. 



The atmosphere in the kitchen is calm, and snuggled into his Papa’s chest, Jaskier is warm and comfortable. He watches Daddy set the table for lunch, listening to the gentle clink of silverware. Daddy kisses the top of Jaskier’s head as he walks past, and Jaskier rubs his itchy leg on his Papa, making a mental note to steal a fork when his Daddy isn’t looking, for scratching. 



Almost as though he knows what Jaskier is planning, Papa moves the fork out of Jaskier’s reach, idly stroking through his hair. Feeling a bit tired, Jaskier plays with Mr Wolfe, letting him sniff around on the table top. When Eskel stands, Jaskier squawks in indignation as he’s plopped in his highchair. Spitting out his pacifier to show his outrage, Jaskier screeches. Setting the plates down on the table, Daddy looks at him with a frown.



‘Baby no- that’s naughty-’



Noo-’ Jaskier parrots, making grabby hands at Geralt. ‘Daddy up. Up.’ He says, insistent. 



He hasn’t had to sit in his highchair for a week, and he has no desire to start again now; Daddy’s lap is much better for drinking bottles. 



To Jaskier’s horror, Geralt just ruffles his hair and starts to strap him in as Eskel retrieves the pacifier. Just as Jaskier sucks in a breath (because Lambert has been teaching him several new swear words that he’s been dying to try), Vesemir approaches the table, bowl in hand. He sets it down just out of Jaskier’s reach, and Jaskier loses his train of thought. 



Ooo pumpkin!’



It’s only a small bowl, but it looks delicious; a beautiful deep orange that is nothing like the white of the milk or porridge Jaskier normally receives. It looks like it has flavour, and Jaskier changes tactics, now making grabby hands at the bowl of mashed pumpkin instead of Daddy. 



Moving back to the fire and lifting the lid off a large pot, Vesemir pokes at the contents with a wooden spoon as Jaskier continues to strain against his straps. As the delicious aroma fills the kitchen, Jaskier can feel himself drooling. Daddy wipes his face and puts a bib on him, and Jaskier fusses, shaking his head so that his ears wobble. When Daddy moves away, Jaskier tries again to reach the bowl of pumpkin as his Papa cleans his pacifier in the sink. Leaving it on the drying rack, his Papa opens the fridge, looking for something. Jaskier has a vague idea of what his Papa is looking for, and pushes the thought aside to focus on his prize. 



When the pumpkin continues to remain out of reach, Jaskier squeals in frustration.



‘Yes, baby, almost ready.’ Eskel says, brushing past Geralt in the overcrowded kitchen. At the light touch, Geralt whines; Lambert wrinkles his nose looking like he’s about to sneeze, and Vesemir turns away from the stove, pointing the wooden spoon at Geralt forcefully.



‘Cut it out,’ Vesemir says, and Jaskier doesn’t quite understand, until he spots the bulge in the front of Geralt’s jeans. Waving the spoon, Vesemir continues, ‘I don’t want that smell anywhere near my lunch. Calm down or you will be eating on the rampart. Now, have you finished setting the table, or are we eating off the tabletop?’ 



Deflating and looking like a scolded puppy, Geralt does as he’s told. Opposite Jaskier, Lambert helps himself to a spoon. When Eskel returns with the dreaded vial, Jaskier scowls, banging Mr Wolfe on the table in protest. It doesn’t work, and as the pearly liquid is stirred into his mashed pumpkin, Jaskier looks pointedly away. If he doesn’t see it, it never happened. He glances back just in time to see Eskel licking his fingers and staring straight at Geralt. Geralt lets out a low, needy whine as Vesemir mutters ‘Oh for fucks sake.’  



Across from them, clearly not enjoying being ignored, Lambert bangs his spoon on the table. Snatching it away, Vesemir scolds him too. ‘Good boy’s don’t hit the table, Lambert.’ 



Offering Lambert the spoon back, Vesemir makes him sit properly before passing him his bowl. With a happy little trill, Lambert tucks into his pumpkin, spilling it over himself and the table immediately. Vesemir moves the stuffed cat out of the way, lest it end up covered in pumpkin too. As Lambert eats, Jaskier looks hopefully at his Papa, who settles into his chair beside him. Daddy sits on Jaskier’s other side, and Jaskier bounces excitedly as his Papa finally picks up the spoon. 



He’s been waiting for this moment for far too long. 



‘Open wide for Papa, Jaskier.’



Jaskier doesn’t hesitate like he did with the porridge; he sucks the spoon in immediately. 



A noise of utter bliss escapes his body, and he latches onto the spoon like an animal starved. It’s really good. Better than good. Fucking fantastic. Buttery and salty and real, proper food. He’s been waiting for this moment since before his accident, when Vesemir first promised him mashed pumpkin, and it’s just as wonderful as Jaskier dreamed it would be. Porridge is good, but this is divine



‘Is that good, baby?’ his Daddy asks, smiling and tickling behind Jaskier’s ear.



Unable to answer, because he is too busy devouring the spoon, Jaskier trills again. He wants every morsel of flavour he can get his mouth on. His Papa waits patiently for Jaskier to release the spoon before dipping it back into the bowl and feeding him another delectable mouthful. Jaskier opens eagerly, bouncing in his chair. He licks his lips, making sure he’s getting every scrap of food that’s offered to him. When Eskel takes too long to feed him the next spoonful, Jaskier bounces harder, his mouth open and ready for more. 



He’s probably eating far too quickly, but he doesn’t care, it’s food



As Vesemir serves up what looks like handmade dumplings, soft and plump, Lambert chatters about his morning, re-energised by the appearance of food. Acting out his rendition of eating a spider he found in the hay, Lambert leans into Geralt. Daddy nods in all the right places as Lambert talks, but his attention is attuned to Jaskier, watching him devour his pumpkin with a look that might be considered fondness. 



Both Papa and Daddy have been so attentive to all of Jaskier’s needs since his accident. Jaskier isn’t sure if it’s Vesemir’s book on childhood abuse, which both Papa and Daddy have read from cover to cover, or maybe the fact that he nearly died. Either way, Jaskier isn’t complaining; he’s been cuddled to within an inch of his life and he’s loving it. 



The mornings he spends full skin to skin with Papa or Daddy (which is both frustrating and fabulous), the days he’s carried around by one of the aforementioned men, and the evenings he’s lovingly groomed until his skin is soft and pinked, then he’s massaged from head to toe with a sweet smelling oil until he is nothing more than a Jaskier-shaped puddle on the change table. He’s had belly rubs and head scratches, treats and stories, and he gets special kisses from Lambert that steal his breath away.  



Despite his broken leg, it’s the happiest Jaskier’s ever been in his whole life.



Handed a plate piled high with fat little dumplings, Geralt hums gratefully. They smell heavenly, and Jaskier sniffs the air, savouring the delicious scent as he laps up another spoonful of pumpkin. If he tries really hard he can almost imagine he’s eating dumplings. Eskel’s plate is put to the side (pointedly out of Jaskier’s reach) and Vesemir takes his seat at the head of the table, pausing a moment to admire the mess surrounding Lambert. Batting grabby fingers away from his dumplings, Vesemir directs Lambert back to his pumpkin. 



‘You eat your pumpkin, pup. Dumplings are too rich for little tummies.’



Pumpkin in his hair, and staring Vesemir in the eye, Lambert drops his spoon and sticks his fingers into his mash. His defiance doesn’t go unnoticed; Geralt chokes on his dumpling, and Vesemir smacks him in the back of the head for laughing. ‘Don’t encourage him.’ 



Smacking his lips, Jaskier watches as Vesemir wrestles the bowl back from Lambert, opting to hand feed him instead. Looking around, Jaskier sighs in contentment. He can’t ever remember being so happy. Surrounded by family, with a full belly and a clean diaper, Jaskier is feeling wonderful.

 

Setting aside Jaskier’s empty bowl, Eskel brushes fingers through Jaskier’s hair, straightening his headband. ‘Was that good baby? Such a good boy for Papa, eating all your pumpkin.’ Eskel rumbles, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Breathing deeply, his Papa purrs, nosing at Jaskier’s cheek. ‘You smell so good baby. Papa just wants to eat you up.’ 



With a playful growl, Eskel licks a stripe up the side of Jaskier’s face. Squirming in his seat, Jaskier squeals, his diaper making a crinkling noise under his bottom as he kicks his good leg. Geralt joins in, leaning in on Jaskier’s other side to sniff him. 



‘Oh he really does smell good. Save a bite for Daddy.’ 



Jaskier squeals as Geralt licks his other cheek. As Geralt and Eskel continue to nibble on him, Jaskier’s high-pitched giggles fill the kitchen. Their beards tickle, and the rumbling purrs send delightful tingles up Jaskier’s spine. Flapping his hands, Jaskier wriggles in his chair and uses Mr Wolfe to help protect him from the vicious attack. 



The sound of a scuffle breaks Jaskier from his game of smack Daddy repeatedly on the head with Mr Wolfe. 



Catching Lambert by the hem of his pull-up, Vesemir tugs him back off the table. Lambert wriggles and growls, but is promptly deposited back in his chair. He fights against Vesemir, making grabby hands at Eskel’s uneaten plate. 



‘I want dumplings!’ Lambert yells, reaching for the plate. 



No, Lambert.’ Vesemir says firmly as Lambert attempts to clamber back onto the table. With a growl, Vesemir catches him by the back of his neck, and Lambert falls limp. Setting Lambert back in his chair, Vesemir releases him, frowning. ‘That’s twice you’ve had to be scruffed today, pup. I’m adding ten more to your punishment tonight.’ Vesemir says as Lambert stops fighting to whimper. Softening a little, Vesemir adds, ‘I know you’re tired, but that’s no excuse for bad behaviour.’



Pulling Mr Wolfe to his chest, Jaskier cuddles him extra tight. Scenting Jaskier’s neck, Daddy kisses the top of his head as Papa rubs his back, whispering reassuringly in his ear. Jaskier leans into them both for comfort. Since The Incident, every night after dinner, Vesemir calls Lambert into the hall, and Jaskier can hear Lambert’s cries echoing around the keep. Jaskier doesn’t like it. It’s not fair.



Even though Daddy and Papa say it isn’t Jaskier’s fault, and even though Lambert is very cuddly and purrs extra loud after his smacks, Jaskier still feels incredibly guilty. 



Releasing Lambert’s neck, Vesemir sits back down before tugging Lambert to sit on his knee. Bottom lip trembling, Lambert clings to Vesemir, nosing at his neck and murmuring into his shoulder. ‘I sorry, Papa. Please no more smacks.’



Stroking through Lambert’s hair, Vesemir says almost too softly for Jaskier to hear. ‘You remember what we talked about, pup? A spanking is how you know Papa has forgiven you, which means that you can forgive yourself. You always feel better after, don’t you? And you know Papa will stop when you don’t need them anymore.’



Cuddling into Vesemir’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his ugly sweater, Lambert gives a tiny nod, tears spilling from his eyes.



Tucking Lambert’s head to his neck, Vesemir holds him tightly. Mewling, Lambert takes a shuddering breath and his shoulders drop, the tension draining away. Vesemir lets out a soft chuckle as Lambert noses under his ear, sniffing eagerly. Finger’s trailing through Lambert’s hair, Vesemir strokes softly. ‘You’re a good boy, Lambert; just a little overtired, I think. Do you feel a bit better now that Papa’s scented you?’



Nodding again, Lambert sucks his thumb as Vesemir collects his toy. Burying his face into the stuffed cat, thumb still firmly in his mouth, Lambert breathes deeply, a quiet calm falling over him. Watching as Vesemir rubs circles over the small of Lambert’s back, Jaskier fiddles with Mr Wolfe’s tail, contemplating Vesemir’s words about smacking. Even though his bottom hurts after he’s had smacks, Jaskier does feels better, because he knows Papa and Daddy aren’t mad anymore. Maybe it’s the same for Lambert.

 

Sucking on his own thumb, Jaskier looks at Daddy, a wave of affection washing over him when his Daddy smiles at him. Retrieving Jaskier’s pacifier from the sink, his Papa pockets it. Jaskier needs to be burped before they will give it back to him. Brushing a strand of hair from Lambert’s face, Vesemir kisses him on the head. Lambert begins to purr as Vesemir cuddles him close, patting his bottom. 

 

Good boy, Lamb.’ Vesemir says, and Lambert lets out a soft crooning noise from behind his thumb. ‘Let’s get you changed and settled for a nap, hmm? My little wet pup.’



Standing, Vesemir hoists Lambert onto his hip. With a soft mrrp, Lambert snuggles against him. Looking back, Vesemir nods his head at Jaskier. ‘Geralt, bring your pup, he’s falling asleep at the table, and I want them to nap together. Eskel, there’s two bottles warming by the fire, grab them both, the milk will help put them sleep.’



Feeling rather sleepy, Jaskier decides it’s time for cuddles. 



‘Are you ready for some cuddles with Daddy?’ Geralt asks, and Jaskier looks at him in awe. How did he know? In lieu of saying yes, Jaskier lifts his arms, waiting to be picked up. ‘My sweet boy.’ Daddy says, unbuckling the straps around Jaskier’s middle and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek before lifting him out of his chair.

 

As Jaskier breathes in the scent of his Daddy, an incredible feeling of safety and warmth encompasses him. Snuggling closer, Jaskier rubs his nose against Daddy’s neck, the same way Lambert does to him. His Daddy makes a small noise of happiness, the purr vibrating through his chest as he holds Jaskier tightly. ‘Esk, look.’ Geralt says quietly, as Jaskier continues to nuzzle against him.

 

‘I see him, wolf.’ Papa says, collecting the bottles and coming to stand beside Geralt. One hand wraps around Geralt’s waist, and Eskel smiles as he leans in. ‘He’s perfect. I will never be able to thank you enough for finding him, Geralt.’ Eskel and Geralt share a gentle kiss over the top of Jaskier's head, and Jaskier yawns, feeling safe and sleepy. It’s his favourite place in the world, snuggled between them.

 

When Daddy kisses Jaskier on the forehead, he rubs their noses together. ‘Daddy loves you so very much, Jaskier.’



Closing his eyes, Jaskier breathes in the scent of wood-smoke that clings to them both, letting the words truly settle in his soul. He is loved. Here, held between Geralt and Eskel, Daddy and Papa, Jaskier knows that he is safe, and he never wants to go back. He never wants to be cold, hungry or alone ever again. Jaskier wants to stay here, with his new family. He wants to be their pup.



The words are little more than a whisper from Jaskier's lips, but the wolves hear them anyway. 



I love you too, Daddy.’

Notes:

I do so love all the love, and the comments make my day. If you enjoyed, please let me know!

Lovely fics inspired by this one what_about_the_fish and Akikofuma

Artwork for The Witcher's Pup by ThisStupidRock

Come find me on Tumblr with all your baby Jaskier questions!

Chapter 18: Fanart

Notes:

Some amazing artwork of Baby Jaskier and Pogo, by ThisStupidRock.

I'm so thrilled I can't even.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Baby Jaskier

Notes:

Big thank you to ThisStupidRock for the artwork; baby Jaskier is adorable and I love him.

Once again, thank you to all the lovely people who enjoyed or were inspired by this work, I cherish you all and your lovely comments fuel my writing.

Series this work belongs to: