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blackberrywars · 1 year

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I think you know I'm like *contractually* obligated to ask about Lemon Eyes. And gimme some of that Oops! 💕🍋💀🔥👏✨😍

(⁠づ⁠￣⁠ ⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠づ

xx, lem

Hello!!! Thank you so much for playing! I just answered your obligatory Lemon Eyes —I'm sure you'll be delighted to know that everyone was interested in it. Onto Oops! (your exclamation point has now been added to the doc title).

Summary: Eskel-pades fill for Blackberries & Brotherhood. I think I didn't finish this because someone else made a really similar fic, but I still love the concept of lil wolves Eskel + Geralt getting into some blackberry-related mischief. I too have contractual fruit-related obligations.

It’s an open secret at Kaer Morhen. One of those delicate things that every witcher knows that they don’t know, up until they’re old enough to find out for themselves. One of those hidden things no one —the trainees nor the grown witchers and masters— ever talks about aloud, but not the same way that no one talked about the Trials or the pyres after them. Those secrets bring pain. Knowledge that, of the twelve yearmates Eskel had once shared his life with, six had already withered into husks on the laboratory tables, and another two or three would die before Rennes put that medallion around their necks. Knowledge that it isn’t always animal flesh burning in the valley below. This secret brings something far rarer.

Joy.

Just ahead, across a small clearing, a massive blackberry thicket scrapes the lowest tree branches, towering above their heads. Dots of red and purple and black cover the curved branches, thousands of berries ready for the picking in the height of Kaer Morhen’s mild summer. His new nose hurts with the scent. Even through the smell of earth and their combined sweat, he can nearly taste the sweet-sour fruits. Eskel whoops, hauling Geralt with him until they stand in front of it, neither one of them moving forward. He groans.

Up close, the berries they’d seen from across the clearing are too high for either of them to reach, even stacked atop each other, or else buried deeper in the brambles, protected by a cage of cruel thorns. All along the front, the bottom branches almost shine with how they’ve been picked clean. The grown witchers must have come through earlier in the season to take all the easy pickings. Leaving the rest for them. An image flashes in Eskel’s mind of that morning, of the small ceramic jar that Frank stationed by his plate at their table, and the knife perched atop it, coated in a dark film. Bastards. He squeezes his free hand into a fist. The thicket could be one of Kaer Morhen’s walls —hard stone and harder iron— for all the ways Eskel thinks they could get through it, but at least the keep has a gate.

“Shit. This is gonna hurt.”

“Yeah, probably. I did say this was a bad fuckin’ idea. Vesemir warned us about going into these woods alone.”

“Eat shit already if you’re going to be such a kiss-ass.”

“Did little Lambert teach you that one?”

Eskel punches him in the arm, ignoring the fact that he had overheard the line from the little monster in question, and Geralt responds in kind, swiping at his head but not before he comes back. But Geralt reaches too far, his weight shifted forward. (Overcommitting, as Varin would say, and now he’s saying it inside his fuckin’ head too). He crouches and kicks out, trying to copy something he’d seen Aubry do that knocked Traj on his ass the other day, bracing for the pain in his shin against Geralt’s. He yelps when it works, knocking him over. Right towards the thorns. Eskel leaps forward, shoving Geralt down, barely catching himself on top of him with his hands scraping the ground as his heart beats loudly, slowly rising from where it had dropped into his stomach. Below him, Geralt cranes his neck up, rubbing the back of his head. His face is so close. Close enough to kiss, or something like that.

“Ow, the fuck, Esk? No need for dramatics.”

Nope. No kissing. Absolutely not, he can’t kiss Geralt at all, no matter how pretty his face is or how close it is to his own. Doesn’t matter that his lips look nice even after the wind’s chapped them to pieces, or that there’s a tiny scar at the bottom edge where his tooth came in early. Embarrassed, he leans back so he’s upright. Sitting on Geralt. Fuck. He braces his feet against the ground and falls right on his ass when Geralt bucks upward, reaching for his arm. It’s then that he sees blood running down to his elbow, and a mess of little cuts all over his palm and fingers.

“Dumbass! What did you think was gonna happen? Did you catch yourself on the thorns?”

“I was stopping you from falling into them!”

He tries to bring his hand back, but Geralt catches it first, wrapping his thin, pale lips around Eskel’s thumb. Nevermind that he can feel the wound closing already, barely a pinprick, but Geralt’s tongue soothes the sting, and his mouth feels like silk, even with the threat of his new fangs growing in. Strands of white hair fall into his half-lidded eyes, and Eskel desperately wants to touch them. He could tuck them back behind his ear or into his leather headband, making sure he could see those pretty eyes. Gently, he presses against the soft roof of Geralt’s mouth, barely suppressing a sound at the slight hollow that forms in his cheeks.

Don’t get a boner don’t get a boner don’t get a boner, fuck, please don’t get a boner or smell horny or blush or fucking anything.

Geralt’s sharp hip bones dig into his ass, and it makes him want to scoot back that bare few inches further up, just enough to feel more, except then he’d absolutely get a boner, right on top of Geralt. He’d see it, and he’d…… he wouldn’t even laugh or get angry. That would be a blessing. Knowing him, he’d just get quiet and uncomfortable, maybe avoid him for a few weeks. The thought hurts enough that he shoves himself up and away. When he looks back, Geralt’s frowning, but he has his hand outstretched for Eskel to pull him up, the same way he does when they spar. He obliges. It was just like sparring. Nothing strange when he steps away, and Geralt lets him go.

#berry's games #berry's fics #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #eskel #geralt #school of the wolf #kaer morhen

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