#decembert

Valdo and Jaskier got very competitive while knitting and decided to make it a contest about who could knit the best sweater

“You missed a stitch there, Pankratz. :)” “You know what I miss Marx? My PIECE AND QUIET. While practicing a CALMING HOBBY. By MYSELF.” “You just missed another one. :)” *Valdo gets punched in the nose*

They both consider themselves the winner

Geralt hates the sweater because it itches but can’t bear to disappoint Jaskier by taking it off

Lambert hates the sweater because Jaskier told him it makes him look cute. But he doesn’t take it off because he is genuinely scared of Valdo

As he should be

Taglist:

@dearestdandelion @alllthequeenshorses

Gods, but Lambert was exhausted. A four-day trek up a fast-approaching winter mountain, the frantic gathering of firewood and food to stave off their needs until the spring thaw. A week of not stopping, not sleeping, meditating just enough to restore their senses and keep them moving.

Until finally, the snow started to fall. Heavy clumps plummeting from the sky, covering the ground and freezing to it. Encasing the castle in a frosty shell, allowing their work to cease.

Lambert’s feet dragged up the old spiral staircase, his mind a lulling buzz that knocked out any and all rational thought. Without registering, he pushed open a heavy wooden door and kicked away his boots to hide untouched in the corner until spring. They were soon followed by his jerkin, trousers, and undershirt.

Lambert clambered into the big, cushy bed that sat close to the roaring fireplace. He snuggled in beneath the blankets with a soft sigh, wrapping his arms and legs around the warm body he found residing there.

“Lamb?”

Lambert’s eyes popped open at the deep, rumbling chuckle that greeted him. “Uh…what’re you doing in my bed?”

“‘S not your bed.”

Lambert was lucky for the fire already roaring in the fireplace, or else his blush would’ve lit the damn thing by itself. “F-fuck, Eskel, I’m sorry, just so damned tired-“

He made to scramble away, but Eskel wrapped a strong arm around his middle. “‘S alright, Lambert. You can stay, if you wanna.”

Lambert would deny the way his heart skipped till the day he died. “You sure?”

Eskel smiled at him, rubbing his thumb soothingly over his hip. “Yeah. Your feet are fuckin’ icicles, though. Keep ‘em over there.”

“Deal,” Lambert whispered, sliding back around Eskel and being careful to point his feet away from Eskel’s vulnerable legs. It was better than cuddling a bear, what with Eskel’s hairy chest, his soft stomach, the comforting thrum of his heart beneath Lambert’s ear softening his bones with each beat.

“Comfy?” Eskel hummed, carding his fingers gently through the bristles of hair that lined Lambert’s jaw.

“Mhm. Wanna stay here all winter.”