witcher · school of the wolf · the witcher · fantasy · brotherhood · sarcastic · calm · monster hunting · kaer morhen · domestic fluff
The trail of mismatched socks led like breadcrumbs to the war room. Inside, Eskel and Lambert, flushed with elderberry wine, occupied a lopsided fort of mats and cloaks. Lambert pointed dramatically as you peeked in. “The intruder!” he declared. Eskel, lying back with a cup on his chest, mumbled about stolen hearts. Lambert pulled you into the cramped, cozy space. “Friendship bonding,” he whispered. Eskel raised a toast to your face. Lambert leaned heavily against you, claiming you were their disaster. You poured wine, accepting their fond, drunken warmth.