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merlot-and-chardonnay · 4 months

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A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 11.5

Chapter 11

"Now you see the lengths I can go to in order to take back what belongs to me," Daemon says in triumph as Caraxes stared down Geralt, the look in the dragon's eyes mirroring the same triumph and anger in his rider's.

Back inside the keep, the other witchers could only stare in awe and terror at the sight of the blood wrym.

"That's the dragon?!" Jaskier exclaims in shock, "that's THE dragon that Daemon rides?" "Caraxes," you nod in confirmation.

"I did say he was big," Ciri points out. "Yes, but THAT big?!" Jaskier exasperates.

"I have to agree with the bard on this one," Vesemir speaks, "Even if there were a hundred of us, we may not stand a chance."

"We have a sorceress to help us," Ciri points out. "I appreciate the confidence," Triss speaks, "but dragons are near impervious to magic. Just as with witchers, it would take dozens, even hundreds of us to subdue such a beast."

You sigh, taking a deep breath, thinking about what needed to be done. You were the reason Daemon came all this way. You were the one who could stop this conflict and prevent the bloodshed that was going to ensue.

"You are outmatched, witcher," Daemon continues his triumphant speech, "even with your tricks and spins and your enhanced senses, you are one man. You cannot hope to defeat a dragon on your own. Surrender now. Produce me (y/n) and my child, and I will spare you the destruction of your home, and you the pain of a burning death."

Geralt stood his ground, refusing to back down.

Right at that moment, the doors to Kaer Morhen opened wide. The witchers, lead by Vesemir, run out with swords in hand, their eyes black and skin ashen from the potions they had just consumed. Geralt turns to see the wolves join him in the fight.

Daemon's eyes widen a bit, not having realized there were more of the witcher's kind.

Geralt turned his gaze back to the prince, potion vial in hand, "as you can see, prince, I'm not alone," he downs the potion, his own eyes turning black and skin turning ashen white, "but you are, even with a dragon by your side," he points his sword at Daemon, "turn back now. There is nothing here for you."

"So you will not surrender?" Daemon asks, looking to Geralt, and the other witchers, "you would put your own brethren in mortal danger just to defend the woman you love?"

"We will all defend (y/n) and her child to the last fucking breath if we must," Eskel speaks, "they are one of us."

"You think yourself the first to invade Kaer Morhen?" Vesemir states, "Men who possessed none of what you have tried to rid the world of the likes of us once before, yet here we stand. We've survived the last raid, we will do so again."

"Go back home to your comfy cushioned palace, you fucking spoiled princeling!" Lambert sneers, the other witchers shouting and jeering in agreement.

"...So be it," Daemon says in a rather calm yet threatening tone, looking to Caraxes, who seemed all too eager to obey his master's next command. Daemon turned to the witchers, a small smile on his face, "Dracarys."

Caraxes raised his head and a pillar of fire shot from his mouth. The witchers simultaneously cast the Quen sign to shield themselves from the dragon's flaming wrath. While the sign proved to be effective, it did little to conceal the heat of the flames.

Nevertheless, the wolves stood there ground.

Meanwhile Triss stood by the entrance to the keep, gathering her thoughts and her strength, focusing on the dragon.

She begin to mutter incantations in the Elder Speech, focusing the chaos around her to surround Caraxes.

It took some time, but the spell started to take effect. Right on time as the witchers were starting to feel the heat of the flames burn through their armor and into their skin. Their magic shields were starting to falter right when Caraxes stopped.

Daemon looked to his dragon, wondering what was going on.

Caraxes swayed and started to move about in a sluggish fashion, almost as if he were disoriented, until he faltered down.

The blood wrym was down, but he was not completely out.

Triss kept repeating the incantations that kept Caraxes sedated; it hadn't even been a minute and already the effects of the spell were starting to take its toll on the sorceress.

Many of the witchers were still recovering from the dragon flame.

Vesemir, Lambert, and Coen and two of the witchers rush up to subdue the dragon. Despite the heavy sedation spell, Caraxes could still push his weight around and knock the wolves about.

Eskel and Geralt take up their swords and charge at Daemon. The prince parried each of their blows from their swords. Valyrian steel was lighter then silver, which worked in Eskel and Geralt's favor as they begin to push the prince back.

While the fighting was going on you ran to your room and found your daughter still in your crib.

You had no doubt the Geralt and his brethren could take on Daemon (one would've been more then enough to suffice), but Caraxes was a different story.

You trusted Triss to be a capable and strong sorceress, but if what she said was true, she would not be able to subdue the beast for much longer.

You take Aemma from the crib and cradle her to your chest, giving her a kiss on the head. You feel your eyes start to well up with tears.

Aemma looked up to you, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen. To her, you were her whole world at this moment, unknowing of the outside world like she's been since the day she was born.

You loved her, and this was the last thing you wanted to do, but you couldn't be responsible for the needless deaths of the men who had welcomed you into their home and allowed you to stay and care for your daughter.

This needed to be done before more blood was shed.

You walk out of your room and into the main hall of the keep, heading for the front entrance.

"Uh, (y/n), what are you doing?" you hear Jaskier question in confusion, "Where are you going with Aemma?" You look to your brother with a knowing gaze.

"No," the Bard shakes his head, "no, no, no, (y/n), don't you dare, I forbid it." You scoff lightly, heart not completely in it, "when has that ever worked?"

"(y/n), you can't," Jaskier insists, "you don't have to do this, we can figure something else out." "Wait, what is she doing?" you hear Ciri ask. "Daemon is hear for Aemma and me," you say, "If I go with him, he'll spare Geralt and the others. I need to do this."

"No, don't," Ciri grabs your wrist, "you can't do this. I swore I would not let anything happen to Aemma, and I won't. I'll protect you, the both of you."

You turn to Ciri, tears in your eyes, "Ciri, you're a brave and sweet girl," you say, placing a hand on her head, "but don't make this anymore difficult then it already is." "But (y/n)-" "this is my decision, Ciri," you say sternly, "I'll be okay. Daemon won't hurt me, not as long as I have Aemma in my arms."

Meanwhile, the fight continued.

Daemon was pushed to the ground by Eskel as he and Geralt have their swords pointed at the prince. Daemon looked towards the keep to see Triss was still focusing her spell on Caraxes. If Daemon could take out the sorceress, the dragon would be back under his command once more.

Daemon got on his knees, putting his hands up to signify his surrender.

Geralt and Eskel still kept their defenses up as they slowly approach the prince.

Noticing the dagger by Eskel's side, Daemon quickly stands and grabs it, stabbing the man in the side.

"Eskel!" Geralt rushes to his brother's side as Daemon makes a run for it. Geralt was about to go after the prince, but Eskel was doubled over in pain.

The white hair witcher looked to see exactly where Daemon was running towards.

"Vesemir!" Geralt calls out, getting the elder witcher's attention, "he's going after Triss!"

Vesemir stopped fighting the dragon and ran after the prince.

Triss' nose was starting to bleed at this point, but she stood her ground and kept focus on the spell.

"Triss!" she hears Vesemir calls out.

Sure enough, Triss looks up to see Daemon about to stab her. The sorceress quickly dodged, but the sword braised her side, forcing her to falter in pain.

Vesemir ran to Triss' side and helped her to her feet.

The spell quickly dissipated and Caraxes shook off the effects, almost as if he was never under the spell's influence.

"We might want to fucking run now," Coen suggests.

Too late.

Caraxes growled and went after the witchers. One got snapped up in the dragon's jaws while the rest ran for their lives.

Daemon stood in triumph as Caraxes approached Geralt and Eskel. The prince walked towards the dragon and stared into both the witchers' eyes, ready to finish it all.

"STOP!!!"

Daemon and Caraxes both turned around towards the keep to see you by the entrance, the baby in your arms.

Daemon stood there, speechless. He felt himself start to walk towards you.

Before you knew it, Daemon stood in front of you, staring in awe at the bundle in your arms. "Please stop this, Daemon," you say, voice broken as you fought back your tears, "This is the reason you came all this way, isn't it? You came for me...and for Aemma."

"Aemma?" Daemon looked into the bundle to see your daughter's face, "you...named our daughter after the late queen?"

You nod, fighting the urge to shove Daemon away as he reached a hand to touch Aemma, rubbing her back.

"She is mine," you hear the prince whisper, "the blood of the dragon courses through her veins."

You look up to Daemon, staring into his eyes with a hard look on your face.

"Spare the witchers," you sternly tell him, "and we'll go with you. Please, Daemon, swear to me no further harm will come to them, and I'll swear to go with you back to King's Landing, or Dragonstone, or wherever it is you wish to take us. Just please, stop this madness."

Daemon looked to his daughter, then turned his gaze back to you. He leaned down and placed a kiss on your forehead, "you have my word, Little Lark. On the gods of Old Valyria."

You exhale, still annoyed by his pet name for you, but relieved that you were able to end this.

"(y/n)!" you hear Geralt call out, as he helps Eskel back to the keep, "what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," you say, letting a tear run down your cheek.

You feel Daemon place a hand on the small on your back and escort you towards Caraxes; the prince giving the witcher a knowing and triumphant look as he did so.

The witchers, Jaskier, and Triss could only stand and watch.

Ciri walked out of the keep, to see you and Daemon walking away.

"(y/n)!" she calls out, tears in her eyes, "don't do this!"

The young girl runs after you, but Geralt stops her, "Ciri!" he says. Ciri struggled, tears falling down as she watched Daemon help you up on Caraxes.

"No..." Ciri cries softly as Daemon mounts the beast behind you on the saddle.

"NO!!!!!"

The ground began to shake. Triss, Jaskier, and the witchers cover their ears from Ciri's screams. Caraxes roared in agony. You hold Aemma close to you for protection. Behind you, Daemon covered his own ears, looking to see where the source of this power was coming from.

For one reason or another, the chaos surrounding Ciri started to cause the witchers to pass out, the injured ones first.

Caraxes managed to protect you, Aemma, and Daemon by raising a wing to form in barrier in front of you.

"CIRI! STOP!!" you shout out, but it didn't do much good.

The keep was starting to crumble from the impact.

Triss stepped away from Vesemir, summoning what strength she had left to cast another spell to subdue Ciri.

It worked, but the spell also backfired, hitting Triss and Vesemir, causing them to pass out; the spell ricocheted towards Caraxes, who had lowered his wing, and hit you and Aemma.

To your surprise, you barely felt a thing. You look to Aemma, but it didn't seem anything different happened to her either.

Daemon leaned over your shoulder, concern for his daughter taking over.

Ciri, still disoriented from the impact of the spell, groggily got back on her feet. Seeing the everyone else was down, and the dragon had not yet taken off, she runs to you and Daemon.

Both you and Daemon could only stare at the young girl, shocked and speechless, even Caraxes seem to stare at her in shock as well.

"You want to take (y/n) and Aemma away from here, you're taking me too," Ciri states with authority.

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Some time later, the witchers started to come to.

By the time Geralt regained consciousness he saw his brothers walk back to the keep, many of them exhausted and wounded.

Inside, Vesemir tended to Triss' wounds while Cone took care of Eskel.

Geralt walked in and approached the elder witcher, "Where are (y/n) and Aemma?" he asks. "...Gone," Vesemir says somberly, "as is Ciri."

"What?!" Geralt's eyes widen, "she...no, no, no," he shakes his head in denial.

He runs outside to calling out for Ciri, shouting into the mountain.

The witcher fell to his knees, not able to come to terms with the fact that not only was the women he loved taken away, but now his ward was taken from him as well.

Geralt turned his gaze to the west. He was going to do everything in his power to travel to Westeros, and bring you, Aemma, and Ciri back home.

Chapter 12

Masterlist

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x reader #ciri #daemon targeryen x reader #hotd #daemon #daemon targaryen #lambert #eskel #triss merigold #vesemir #caraxes

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winters-mistress · 2 months

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Raindrops and Roses

"Here, girl." Vesemir says, placing a wooden plate upon Ciri's lap. The dog in her lap shifts, hid weight a conofrting presence. Icy blue eyes snap in Vesemir's direction, and Thunder growls at him. He's a breeding stud, and one of Ciri's favourite dogs that are here in the Keep. Hunting dogs, they tell her, a soft of wolf shepheard cross, but all Ciri sees are enormous fluffy beasts who she adores. He'd been napping on her ever since she'd returned from lunch, and she had been comforted by the weight and the warmth of the fluffy black and white dog.

The girl looks up from her camp of an old mage's settee settled by the fire, piled with blankets and furs and pillows, her skin pale as she looks up at the oldest witcher.

He reminds her of Eist, warm and strong and commanding and reliable, although Eist definitely wasn't as prickly as the old witcher was. The Skelligan jarl never handed out chores or lashes or scoldings in the way Vesemir did, but her beloved grandfather never lectured Mouseack or Calanthe the way he did Geralt, Lambert and Eskel when he felt they were treating her unfairly or too harshly. It wasn't often, and the quiet talking to's during pillowtalk the Skelligan had with Calanthe never produced the same results as the venomous lectures or whip lashes that the eldest witcher gave out to his pups.

Both men are strong and wise and raggedy and trustworthy and loyal, and Cirilla's heart aches with how much she misses him. The way he would tuck her into bed and curl around her when she had a nightmare, dump blankets upon her little head or rub his knuckles against her temple, tell her stories of his homeland and sneak her cookies and tartlets after one of the nannies had sent her to bed without supper when she had snuck out to play knucklebones or throw rocks in ponds. She misses him horribly, but there is an echo of him in the old wolf that tells her that he will be just as instrumental in healing her hurting heart as much as his pups would.

Geralt is her echo of Calanthe, strong and brave and wicked with a sword. Parental and forceful, antagonistic with her when she needs it just as much as they were gentle when the times for love came. Protectors in their own rights, a strong pillar coming in quick after grief.

Eskel is her echo of Mouseack. Magical and eerie, spiritual and gentle with a gruff exterior. Mouseack's imposing height and large beard spooked off as many people as Eskel's bulk and scars, thick, large hands that are scarred and powerful are the same ones that brush her hair back and wrap bleeding cuts and kiss her hair and light up her room with beautiful images when her ghosts threaten to tear her apart.

She cannot pinpoint who Lambert stands in as just yet. Perhaps a mix of Eist and Lazlo? Eist, who would teach her all the dirty tricks of knucklebones and rook and all the drunk card games, and Lambert, who tells her each and every dirty trick he has with a blade and at the card table as he taught her gwent. Lazlo, who would keep her in line when she would run off with her group of little companions scolds her just as much as Lambert does when she edges too close to poison ivy in the woods or in the caves below Kaer Morhen when the two of them go fishing one afternoon. He is rough and gruff, but he sits outside her room whenever she's woken up from a nightmare, gives her an extra slice of bread and slips her a couple sips of Rivian cherry liqueur whenever Geralt wasn't looking as the witchers hit the bottle.

She loves them all, as gruff and snappy and imposing and scarred as they all are.

Ciri comes back to earth and looks down at the plate Vesemir places in her lap. She doesn't understand why he's feeding her at first, they've had lunch two hours ago. Thick slices of chicken with warm bread and green wild vegetables, as well as some lovely strong and hard cheese and a couple berries Eskel hadn't useful for the pies the day before.

She still thinks about that hunk of cheese and bread, slick from the freshly churned butter that melted into the thick slices. Her mouth waters at the thought.

It's honeycomb. She realises, looking down at the plate. Two large and uneven hunks of the stuff, dripping and slick with honey, and four cookies with dollops of strawberry jam in the middle. The dog snuffles, uninterested at the food, and closes his eyes again.

Her eyes widen at the treats, and she looks up at the old wolf.

"Uh-" he scratches at the back of his neck, an uncharacteristic show of nerves. "I know our tonics and herbs fucked up your-" he points at her stomach underneath the dog and the blankets, and she wishes she hadn't. She'd forgotten about the pain for a few minutes, warm from the dog, while her back was similarly heated from hot waterskin Eskel had gotten for her that morning when she'd woken up in a panic, her sheets slick with blood and horrible cramping in her abdomen.

The witchers ran in, swords at the ready, one after another, and she couldn't find the words to stop their fears, blinded by tears and shaking with the pain.

She remembers when Triss was here and she'd gotten her cycle, when it came to light that the tonics they had her on were fucking her up good and proper. Her bones refusing to heal right, blood thinner than it should have been, the nausea and the headaches and the vivid nightmares and the aches and pains all coming to light, as well as the lumps Triss had found inside her after an examination.

They'd wear off in time, and she had thrown all the bottles of tonic and tea leaves in the fire after slapping them all silly. Verbally and physically.

She'd left for now, promising to come back at the end of spring with word of Ciri's pursuers, and warned all the witchers to never, ever, ever give any type of supplements to the girl again, otherwise she'd rip their balls off and shove them down their throats.

It's only been a month, Ciri supposed, Triss said it would take a while for the cysts to heal. She'd done all she could, made sure they wouldn't rupture, but she was no surgeon who could ease them out, and all they could do was wait for them to come out on their own.

But good gods, this is horrific.

"-the breadseed poppy's milk'll help the pain. But I thought these would make you feel better, try and make the next couple days a bit more bearable." He looks so earnest that it makes Ciri's heart heart a bit.

They hadn't meant to hurt her, hadn't realised the effects the supplements were happening. All they saw was her endurance and muscles were improving, and they all felt awful when Triss beat them all to Ciri's shaking doorframe as the girl screamed in pain.

Kaer Morhen should never hear a child scream like that again, not when it's seen so many.

They'd all apologised, seeming to be beating themselves up and be in worse shape than Cirilla herself had been. Lambert drunk himself into a stupor, Eskel had run -just like those first couple weeks when he couldn't separate the two granddaughter's of Kaer Morhen from each other- and Geralt had gone to slay one of the beasts in the caves wearing too few armour. And Vesemir had slapped them all and brought them to the girl so they could apologise and promise never to do it again.

All the pups think that suffering barters suffering, it seems.

"Thank you." She whispers, touched. These remind her of the honey cookies and strawberry tarts of her childhood, and her heart hurts with the memory and aches with the love she feels. "I-thank you."

Vesemir gruffs and pets her hair like he would the dog upon her legs.

"Eat up, girl. Need all the strength you can get right now. Then take a rest, 'll get Eskel to drop off one of those books you like whenever he and wolf get back from their hunting trip. Lamb's experimenting with some powder he found, so don't be surprised if the keep goes to shit and I have to dig the whip out again."

Ciri giggles, and Vesemir cracks a smile.

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help-help-i-need-an-adult · 1 year

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Thank you @0dde11eth @everything-but-the-not-natural

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artsysera-archive · 23 days

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So i did a thing

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incorrect-quotes-at-random · 1 year

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Lambert: I find it very unseemly of Geralt to start dating again. Isn't the customary period of mourning 10 years?

Triss: Die. Let's find out.

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quinemajo · 8 months

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I made fanart for "A Hoard of Witchers" Witcher fanfiction

#the witcher #digitalart #quine #fanart #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #lambertxaiden #lambert #eskel #vesemir #yennefer of vengerberg #ciri #triss merigold #aiden of the cats #aiden witcher #digitaldrawing #a hoard of Witchers #dragon!jaskier

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marinamd29 · 1 year

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Brides and grooms

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dapandapod · 1 year

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Toss a phone at your bard

HELLO my darlings.

So I am slowly working through my wip hoard and today it was decided it was time for Jaskel. Thank you Kei and Jamie. Let it be known, I have used Instagram like twice, but I am known to throw my phone across the room if something unexpected (usually positive) happens, so that is firmly anchored to reality. Please enjoy my silly boys having a time <3

On Ao3 here

Medieval festivals are amazing. Swords, jugglers, tournaments, handcrafts, historical clothing, they got it all. Depending on which one you go to, that is. This one ticks a lot of boxes, especially on the hand craft market.

Triss, Aiden and Essi had spent the past three weeks crafting their clothing, needling Jaskier's sleep-deprived student ass into joining them. On the condition that he could be That Guy, and play a medieval version of Wonderwall on his ukulele.

Because as cool as a lute is, they are fucking expensive, and hard to play at that. Jaskier knows, he tried.

Puffy sleeves and a scandalizingly open tunic really completes his look, and he enjoys all the looks the crowds are sending him.

Well. His group, because they look fucking excellent, but he is a part of the group, so it counts.

Aiden has dressed as a soldier, Essi as a historical crafting student has spent so much time on Triss' dress, and she looks every part a queen, save for the jewelry. Essi herself is dressed in a more modest dress, but no the less stunning with the attention to detail around her sleeves.

Yeah. They look awesome.

As they walk the area, they find so many crafts. Many of the stalls offer hand casted candles, even more offering lanterns and jugs, and where Aiden came to a stop, hand crafted wooden figurines.

Turns out Aiden knows one of the two standing there, the shorter, armored and rather angry looking Lambert. But no matter the scowling, there is no mistaking the spark between them. Lambert barely sees the rest of the group, eyes peeled on Aiden. It's cute, and Jaskier is happy for them, even if a pang of loneliness aches in him.

That is when Jaskier's eyes land on the other person by the stall.

How Jaskier didn't see him immediately is beyond him, because, wow. Belatedly Jaskier realizes he needs to close his mouth, as he feels Essi's elbow against his side. He looks away quickly, glad that the man didn't notice.

"You good?" She asks teasingly, and damn, Jaskier could *kick* her.

"Tired." Jaskier excuses himself, because he is. That's what you get when you are awake past 3am, staring at the ceiling.

Essi knocks her shoulder to his in sympathy, she knows of his struggles, and does her best to help him.

"Did you watch the video I sent?"

"Three times."

"Aw."

"Insomnia still kicking your ass?" Triss asks as she picks up a little wooden trinket. "Oh, this is cute."

This finally grabs the man across the table's attention.

He smiles at her, eyes gliding over the group, lingering on Jaskier, and suddenly it is hard to breathe.

"Thank you." He says, and why is even his voice attractive?! Unfair.

"You are the one making them? This swallow is really cute!"

"I am, yes. The swallow is my niece's favorite." He says, and Jaskier picks one up to inspect it. It really is well made, the cut of the blade is really subtle, giving a nice texture to the wings.

"They are really nice." Jaskier says, bringing those hazel eyes on him again, and a smile is directed his way. Shit.

"You should see the goats he makes." Lambert pipes up, earning him a glare. "No one loves goats like Eskel."

Aiden laughs brightly, as Jaskier rolls that name around in his head. Eskel.

"Fuck you, Lambert."

"That wasn't very medieval of you." Lambert retorts and Eskel rolls his eyes.

"Pardon my brother, my liege." Eskel says to Triss, tilting forward in half a bow. "He is desperate to impress that kitten knight of yours."

Both Lambert and Aiden splutters indignantly, and Triss covers her smile with a gloved hand.

"Apology accepted, sir, if you show us those rumored goat creations of yours"

Turns out, Eskel didn't bring them, but he pops up his instagram and youtube account, showing off some finished sculptures that he made.

They are incredible, and there are videos of Eskel working the wood, showing his whittling process. Some of them are how-to's, some of them are just sped up showing his progress, and Jaskier finds himself drawn towards those where Eskel is explaining what he does.

Essi buys a little figurine before they leave, and Jaskier snags one of Eskel's business cards. Why? For the social media accounts, of course. No other reason.

When they turn to leave, Essi hooks her arm around Jaskier's and whispers not-so-quietly if Jask should have asked Eskel if he is single.

She is a terrible friend.

Coming home from the fair is a busy affair. Many layers of clothing need to be shed and put away carefully for next time.

Jaskier had the pleasure of playing Wondereth Walleth eight times before he was challenged to a duel, to which Sir Cat, meaning Aiden, stepped up.

All in all, it was an amazing day, and Jaskier managed to see Eskel a few more times, stopping by their stall to chat when Aiden wanted to flirt.

He is pleasantly tired, and he is filled with a giddy energy, which doesn't bode well for tonight, but fuck it, Jaskier lets himself enjoy it.

The moment he is free from his garments, after having posted some group photos and some *very* nice selfies if he may say so himself, Jaskier takes out Eskel's business card again.

Is this stalking? No, nah, not at all.

This is just checking out a craftsman at work, adding to his views, helping him out. That is what marketing is all about, you know?

It has nothing to do with how Jaskier can't stop thinking about Eskel's broad frame, his big hands around his delicate creations, his skill with a knife.

Alright, maybe a little, but again, fuck it! Jaskier will allow himself to enjoy this giddy feeling. It's been a while since he's felt anything but stress and tiredness anyway.

In only his undies and an oversized hoodie, Jaskier throws himself on his messy bed with his phone.

Dragoninthewoods, a curious name, but it makes sense later, as Jaskier stumbles over a video where Eskel is using fire to stain the wood for effect.

Holy shit, he is hot.

Jaskier settles in, throwing the blanket around himself, only to kick a leg free half a minute later, and scrolls through Eskel's instagram.

Like always, Jaskier finds himself staying awake past midnight, finding himself lingering on a picture of Eskel and what seems to be his niece in a petting zoo. It's a nice picture, with the little girl staring a chicken down, and Eskel having at least three baby goats climbing him, looking delighted.

It is tagged with 'if one is missing it wasn't me' and 'don't tell lambert i found his mother - ciri' and 'guess I'm making more goats, huh?' and Jaskier is so charmed.

The more he looks, the more he notices. The scars, of course, are hard to miss, but the crinkle around Eskel's eyes? The way he holds himself up under the wheight of the little monsters, the way the side of his shirt is riding up, revealing skin and oh fuck, Jaskier this is absolutely stalking.

Everything comes crumbling down around him when he accidentally likes the picture. Jaskier unlikes it just as fast and throws the phone across the room on instinct. Because that will fix things.

Survival, he is good at it.

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!

Well. There is bound to me an influx of activity on his social pages after a fair, right?

It's fine. It's fine!

It doesn't matter that the only picture he actually liked across his whole page is the one showing Eskel himself, this is fine! Jaskier throws himself on his back, staring up at the ceiling. No more phone for tonight, it's fine.

It's fine.

It's not fine.

It's been another hour, and Jaskier has a new message. The phone is oh so very far away, all the way across the floor, taunting him. It wouldn't be Eskel, would it? No, that would be dumb. But it could be, right?

No, it couldn't.

Without his permission, Jaskier's body is sitting up and tip-toeing across the room to pick it up, heart in his throat.

It's Aiden, but the message doesn't make sense at first, in the little summary box.

"Look, if you are gonna go through his pictures at 2am in the morning, it's fine, but please don't wake up the rest of the house by liking a picture without sliding into his DM's. Fix it. / Lambert."

......What? Whatwhatwhatwhatwhat?

Jaskier stares at his phone, and then he notices a high pitched sound, and then he notices it is in fact him doing that high pitched sound, and excuse him, what the actual fuck?!

The message has been taunting him for some good long minutes, until another message joins the other.

From Dragoninthewoods.

Jaskier throws his phone at the bed on instinct, hard, because that is apparently who he is as a person when he panics.

Retrieving it from between the bed and the wall, Jaskier braves to read the message.

"I can see that you didn't. Fixed it. There you go, perfect conversation starter. You are welcome /Lambert."

What the fuck what the FUCK?!

Not a minute later, there is another message, profusely apologizing, this time signed with Eskel.

Jaskier's heart is beating so hard he can hear it in his ears, his breath is coming in fast and the giddy nerves from before run through him like a storm. It is not as if Jaskier *wants* to overthink it, but as he types out a reply his mind is racing.

Without letting himself think more about it, Jaskier sends a reassurance back, and a promise to go see his wares at the fair tomorrow too. He hadn't planned on it but like. That is a good excuse, right?

Insomnia still holds Jaskier in a tight grip the rest of the night, but he manages to snatch an hour or two of sleep before he is woken up by his phone again, this time a message from Aiden, actually Aiden, offering to meet up at the fair and why didn't he mention he as going both days?!

Well. That is not something he is going to bring up on a phone anywhere near Lambert, if he has learned anything at all from all of this.

Jaskier redresses in his bard's clothes, even packing his uku-lute, as he has come to affectionately call it now.

Aiden and Jaskier meet up outside the gates, where all the tents are set up. That would explain a thing or two, if Aiden crashed with the brothers last night.

"Heard you put our dragon man in a spin." Aiden says by way of greeting.

"Uh, hi?" Jaskier says back, confused and embarrassed and excited all at the same time.

"Oh please. Eskel has been fretting all morning, and I know you have a thing for him already. That was painfully obvious. What did you even do?"

Ah fuck.

"I might have... liked a picture on his on instagram that I didn't mean to."

Aiden stares at him like he has grown a second head.

"That's all?" He asks, incredulous.

"That's all." Jaskier confirms, more confused than ever.

"Oh, he's got it bad." Aiden groans, throwing his head back in exasperation. "Ok, so I have a confession. I might be dating Lambert, and I might have shown Eskel your picture at some point, and uh... talked about you a bit."

It is time for Jaskier to stare at Aiden like he has grown a second head, because what?

"What?" He asks, because yes, what?

"Yeah, uh. He's hot, you're hot, you know?" Aiden waves his hand nonchalantly and steers them towards the fair area. "So you should talk to him today, you know. Ask him out or something."

"I threw my phone across the room because of him. Twice."

Aiden snorts, "Exactly."

Jaskier makes weak protests all the way over to Eskel's stall, where Lambert already stands waiting. There are dark circles under his eyes, matched by Eskel sipping on a coffee on a little footstool next to his table. When they are noticed, Eskel shoots straight up, eyes wide and Lambert rolls his eyes.

"Good morning!" Aiden calls, stepping right up to his... boyfriend, Jaskier supposes, and steals a bite of the sandwich Lambert is holding.

"Asshole." Lambert mutters, but doesn't put up a fight. That is love, right there. "Here for my idiot brother?"

No mercy, whatsoever.

"Ah. I suppose... I am?" It comes out as a question, but yeah, he is actually. Jaskier gathers up his courage, and meets Eskel's eyes. "Want to walk around the fair with me for a bit?"

Eskel looks like a deer caught in headlight, and Lambert shoves him into motion to join Jaskier.

"If you keep him and therefore me awake another night, I will stab someone." Lambert threatens, and it makes Jaskier huff a laugh.

"No promises, I guess?" Jaskier teases, and then by some miracle takes Eskel's hand and leads them away.

As soon as they are out of sight, Jaskier lets go awkwardly, and scratches the back of his head.

"Uhm. Sorry? For just showing up and dragging you away I mean. You got a business to run."

"No, it's fine, I... Lambert will look after it. And Aiden I suppose. Sorry about last night, really, I didn't see Lambert taking my phone."

"It's fine, it's fine! Kind of sweet of him, really. Did I really keep you up?"

This is the strangest conversation Jaskier has ever had. Probably not true, but right now it really feels like it. Somewhere in the top ten list, at the very least.

"Uh, yeah. I kind of threw my phone across the tent when I saw the notification." Eskel confesses, and well.

"So did I. Twice." They smile at each other, and start walking again.

"So. Where to? Anything we should see today?"

"There will be a tournament in about 15 minutes, my niece is the princess and my brother is one of the knights competing."

"Another brother?"

"Yeah, Geralt. He adopted Ciri last year, after her parents passed."

"Oh no, that's sad!"

"Yes, but they are dealing well. They are both smiling a lot more now."

They stroll between the stalls, around the small stage where a bard with an *actual* lute is setting up, together with a girl with a drum and a third with a fiddle, around the little dirt paths leading them towards the paddock where the tournament will be held.

Jaskier finds himself asking questions about Eskel's work, about his family, about that goat thing, and Eskel in turn ask questions about his degree, his outfit, and if he is doing anything next weekend and possibly might be free for a coffee.

Yeah.

Day two of medieval fairs indeed turns out to be better.

Jaskier learns that Eskel has a really dorky laugh, that Aiden has been trying to set them up for *weeks*, and for that, they both probably owe Aiden at least a bottle of wine.

#jaskel #jaskier x eskel #meet cute #the witcher #wood worker eskel #everything else jaskier #wondereth walleth #you heard it here first #dapanda writes #gang i am so fucking tired i really need to go to sleep #jaskier/eskel #jaskier the bard #eskel #aiden x lambert #triss merigold

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antisocialsocialite · 1 year

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*new 13k witcher fic appears*

jaskier keeps bumping into witchers during his travels. eskel is a hugger, lambert curses, aiden is alive, vesemir is dad. geralt is jealous and whipped. triss is hot and nice and yen is sly and also hot. what more do you want?

ships tagged below

link link link

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 2 years

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How The Witcher characters would react to someone from our world falling into theirs

Summary: they’d not appreciate destiny doing this

Notes: More witcher content from me yay! this is inspired by my vikings post that kind of made me into the timetraveler gal

Taglist: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie (hmu to be added)

Masterlist | requests are OPEN!

Geralt

Fuck

This was not on his table. Not some person just appearing out of nowhere, but clearly not from a portal, and clearly very confused

Oh he believes you’re not from the Continent. He just does not like it, at all

Despite everything, he’ll take good care of you

Helps you until you can stand on your own feet, and then fucks off (unless something else happens in between 😏)

Yennefer

She expects you coming to the Continent to be on purpose

Since you have absolutely no power or means of survival, she can for once trauma dump

Wants to leave the Continent upon finding out about surrogates/adoption/etc.

Would help you, but not very reliably

I think the two of you could become friends, given time

Adopts a child with your help (or just takes in an army of orphans)

Jaskier

Will write a song about this

Is with Geralt when you appear, unlike Geralt, he’s extremely thrilled

This is the most interesting thing that has happened to him in years

Talks to you about everything your world has to offer

You’ve got yourself a free, financially stable friend that’ll stick with you, congrats

Triss

Probably the person that realizes the quickest how much you miss your world

She’s an ✨empath ✨

Will take care of you, and that is a threat

She’d also teach you everything about plants and herbs, so you can find work on your own

Not that you need to, because you can count on her to always help you out

Eskel

He was not prepared for this, like, at all

But Eskel doesn’t forget his manners, so he makes sure you’re safe and healthy

Tears up over the fact that you don’t stare at his scars and treat him like a normal person

Honestly the best witcher you could ask for in this scenario

He’ll take you along the Path and let you sleep in inns and such just for your company

Lambert

Lambert has a bit of a… different approach to the whole matter

If you’re funny, you’ll get along

More than a little harsh around the edges

But he’s very interested in your stories, and doesn’t abandon you

You’ll just have to put up with him

Vesemir

He’s completely alone in Kaer Morhen when this happens

And very, very cautious of you

You need to find proof that you’re not a mage

Eventually does take care of you

And keeps you around (totally not because he enjoys having some company)

Also helps you to get onto your own feet

But lets you stay, if you really want to

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eredins-wife · 1 year

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The witcher 3: Sims 4 Gameplay

#sims4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay #the witcher 3 #ciri #eredin #dandelion #lambert and keira #yennefer x triss

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merlot-and-chardonnay · 4 months

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A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons:

Chapter 3

Chapter 2

----------------flashback------------------

You ignored Daemon's question and continued to gather your clothes. You huff a little when you collected your stockings and noticed they were ripped into shreds. You look at your dress and noticed it was slightly torn in the back too.

"You didn't answer my question, Little Lark," the prince speaks again. You huff once more and turn to Daemon in annoyance, "you have any idea how much money I spent on this?" you exasperate, gesturing to your dress. "I'll get you another," Daemon assures. "The fabric that was used to make this was imported from Kovir," you point out, "you plan on going all the way there to bring back more to fix it?"

"Point me in the right direction and I'll be there on my dragon," Daemon shrugs.

"Ugh," you groan, rolling your eyes and got your small clothes on.

Daemon got up, still naked as the day he was born, and approached you.

"What's you hurry? Stay awhile," he insists.

"I can't," you shake your head, getting your dress back on, doing your best not to look below the waistline of the man you fucked, "the princess will be expecting me soon." "The princess can wait," Daemon says, stepping in front of you.

Based on the look on his face, you could tell this man had no shame whatsoever in what he did last night. "I can't stay," you tell him, "I shouldn't be here any longer then I need to. I shouldn't even had done this in the first place." "Why not?" "Well for one, you are a married man," you point out. "Yet, you let that particular detail slip past your mind last night," Daemon says with a smirk.

He was right about that. You felt like a hypocrite, thinking back to the times you've scolded Jaskier for carrying on with married noblewomen back on the Continent. You've seen how many times your half-brother had gotten in trouble for such trysts, and you had sworn you wouldn't put yourself in a similar situation.

So much for that.

"I'm going," you insist, hastily pushing him to the side, "and don't be getting any ideas, prince" you tell him before you leave, "this is not going to happen again anytime soon...ever."

Looking out to make sure the coast was clear, you quietly slip out of Daemon's chambers and sneak your way back to your own.

You slipped out of your torn dress and put on another. You were in the middle of brushing your hair when you hear a knock at the door.

Your heart skipped a beat, hoping it was a summons to see the princess, but thinking it might be Daemon attempting to seduce you for another round. To your relief it was just the servant had come to give you breakfast.

Eggs with bacon and a cup of tea. The tea, you noticed had a unusual taste, but you didn't really think much of it. It was still decent

Just when you thought you could settle down some, you hear another knock at the door and another servant came in, "the Lord Hand, Otto Hightower is here, my Lady," he announces, "he wishes to see you."

You had a look of confusion on your face, "...me?" you frown a bit, "What for?" "He didn't say," the servant answers.

This was perplexing. You didn't know Otto Hightower all that well; in fact, you dare say you've only met him once when he was present at Rhaenyra's nameday feast. You did recall how very unimpressed he was with your songs and ballads that night, but he applauded when the other nobles had, though it seemed to be out of respect more than anything. What could the Hand of the King possibly want with you?

Said Hand didn't seem to wait for your permission as he walked past the door.

You stand up and curtsy lightly as Otto enters your rooms, "Lord Hand," you greet, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"I'm afraid this is no social call, (y/n)," Otto says, looking you up and down with what to be contempt, "there is something I wish to discuss. Some rather...troubling rumors."

"Uh, rumors?" you frown a bit, taking a seat.

"It seems some...certain individuals, servants, have spotted the prince last night," the Hand explains, "romping about in the halls near his private chambers...with a woman. And, you'll have to forgive me, Lady troubadour, for the indelicacy of this situation, but some of them could've sworn that woman was...you."

"Oh," you say, feeling your face turn hot. It struck you as weird though as you didn't recall anyone being present when Daemon took you in that hall last night. And if they were present, why go to the Hand? Wouldn't it have made more sense to talk the king, Daemon's brother?"

Otto raised an eyebrow at that simple answer you made. You were caught in a compromising situation, yet you didn't seem to realize how this could affect your standing with the royal family. Then again you were a foreigner to this realm, he surmised, and therefore not accustomed to the ways proper women, especially highborn women, were supposed to behave in this part of the world.

"I know you are not from this realm," Otto explains, "you hail from this Continent to the East, across the Sea. I understand your sort are not as...restrained when it comes to indulging in certain vices." "MY sort?" you look at the man with a glare. "Women," Otto says matter-of-factually, "you may have been give more reign on the Continent to engage in such indecent acts, but here in Westeros, the women are raised to be proper paragons of virtue. To keep themselves as such until they are married and have bared children for their husbands."

"That must explain why there's so many brothels on the street of Silk," you mutter. "What was that?" "Nothing," you shrug, casually sipping your tea, "is there any particular reason why you're so fixated on my nighttime activities, Lord Hand?"

"You serve the princess Rhaenyra," Otto states, "she is an impressionable young woman who seems to be under the spell of your morbid, and rather vulgar ballads and siren's calls. It is imperative she does not have certain...ideals planted in her head, especially when she's yet to be betrothed and her virtue not yet called into question."

You were then able to put two and two together on what this was really about, "you want to ensure my 'foreign ways' don't corrupt the pure and virtuous princess," you sarcastically surmise, "...along with your daughter the Lady Alicent, the princess's companion."

"So we understand each other then," Otto says, small smile on his face like he'd won some kind of victory, "I do hope you enjoyed your tea. It was specially made for such...awkward situations. But don't expect it to happen again the next time you decide to think with your snatch instead of your head."

You were internally seething at this point; this man practically barged into your chambers (and you could've been naked for all he knew) and had the gall to control you by shaming your sexual choices. And top it all off, he had your tea spiked with contraceptives without your consent; granted, the fact your drank it gave you some peace of mind, but it still didn't change the fact this misogynistic son of a bitch made choices for your body without your knowing.

Daemon may be a rogue and a Lothario, but at least he was straightforward and wasn't one to beat around the bush, unlike this jackass.

Still, you decide to be the bigger person and stand up to face this man, speaking with a sincere voice, "Rest assured Lord Hand, I shall be discrete and will henceforth set an example for the princess and not let my certain non-Westerosi 'lifestyles' influence her in any way."

Satisfied with your answer, Otto nodded in approval and left.

You down the last of your tea, albeit reluctantly as you felt violated but still grateful as even on the Continent, a woman pregnant out of wedlock was generally frowned upon.

Right after another servant came to let you know Rhaenyra had summoned you to play for her.

You nod and grab your lute, "Paragons of virtue my ass," you mutter.

As soon as your time with the princess was over, you quickly walk out, and just as expected Daemon was there waiting for you to run into him again.

"Ah, my Prince," you greet, "Just the man I was looking for." Daemon was surprised, this was not like you to say something like that him, regardless of what he did last night; he expected insults, curses, you insisting that you had no desired to be bedded by him again (maybe some unsavory comments about his manhood while you were at it).

He was not prepared to hear say you were actually glad to see him.

You surprise even more when you pull him in for a kiss, the push him against the wall for another kiss, feeling him up as you did so.

Daemon pulls away for a brief moment, "Not that I'm complaining," he says, "but this cannot possibly be the Little Lark who had made very clear only this morning this would not happen again."

"I had a change of heart," you shrug leaning into him, "you really going to turn me down right now, Prince? I've heard the tales of your exploits on the Street of Silk. You can be quite...insatiable." "What about me being married? You were so adamant to bring that up," Daemon points out. You stop for a bit, but then decided to brush it off; you've already made your bed, you may as well sleep in it.

Sooner rather than later.

And you did drink the contraceptive tea, you may as well make good use of it while you still can.

"I've also heard you don't really like your wife all that much," you attempt to justify, "your Bronze Bitch, that's what you call her right? Besides, marriages like this, even on the Continent, are nothing more than political arrangements. Never stopped anyone from doing what they will."

Smirking, Daemon now pulls you in to kiss him. You moan as he did so, "my prince," you whisper as he moves to kiss your neck. "Call me by my name, Little Lark," you hear him whisper into your ear. "Only if you call me by mine," you say back.

-----------Present Day: Kaer Morhen---------

You were sleeping, something that was really considered a luxury these days since Aemma was born. You found yourself slowly waking though in the middle of the night. This was normally the time your daughter would be fussing about in her crib mostly likely to be fed.

It was quiet right now...too quiet. You feel the bed dipped on the side and look to see Geralt was sitting on the edge, cradling little Aemma to his chest as he did so.

"I didn't hear her fussing," you say, leaning on your elbow and rubbing your eyes.

"I heard her right as she started," Geralt admits, "I thought comforting her would allow you more rest." "I was wondering why I was sleeping so well tonight," you joke, "thanks for that, Geralt. You've really been a big help with Aemma." "No trouble at all," the witcher says, looking at the little bundle in his arms in awe.

Geralt may not be the father, but he seemed to adore the babe. Aemma seemed to feel the same way; Geralt would help out at night when she'd start fussing, and she seemed to settle quicker in his arms then she did in yours.

If anyone had looked and knew Geralt wasn't a witcher, they would almost mistake Aemma as his biological daughter.

It wasn't long though till Aemma started fussing again, nuzzling Geralt's chest.

"Uh, (y/n), I think she might be hungry again," Geralt tells you. "Yeah, babies do get hungry," you say, reaching out so Geralt could hand you your daughter. You give her a kiss on the head and arrange your night shift so you could feed her.

Geralt averted his gaze so as to give you privacy, something that didn't go unnoticed by you, "you're allowed to look Geralt," you chuckle, "we spent many an intimate night together before this, it's nothing you haven't seen before."

"This is different," Geralt insists. He wasn't really embarrassed or anything, but this felt like something of an intrusion; from what little he's heard about babies and mothers, this was their special moment of bonding. The way you'd looked at Aemma during this time felt intimate and private, and it was something Geralt didn't want to disrupt.

You kiss the top of Aemma's head as she stops nursing. You rub her back and rock her till she falls asleep.

"Let me take her," Geralt offers, and you hand her to him. Geralt gets up, carrying Aemma to her crib.

You lay back down admiring the view. For a man with a rough exterior he could be surprisingly gentle; it shouldn't really surprise you, given how well Geralt has been doing raising Ciri. Actually if anything, parenthood really seemed to bring out the witcher's softer side.

Geralt joined you in the bed afterwards. He pulls you in and you give him a kiss, which you return.

Things start to get a little more heated. You feel him up as he hovers over you. He starts to kiss your neck, but he pulls away before things could get any further.

"Geralt?" you speak. "I uh, I didn't want to get carried away," the witcher admits, "I know you're still recovering from your past labors."

You smile a bit. You and the witcher had continued to share a bed since Aemma was born, and though you and him had started to fool around a little more, you hadn't gone all the way with him yet.

"I, uh, I think I want to do this," you tell him. "Are you sure?" Geralt asks. "It's been almost two months, I think I'll be fine," you assure, finding it sweet that Geralt was considering your needs first.

"Alright," Geralt says, placing you on your back, placing a kiss on your forehead, "if this becomes too much, let me know."

You give a sweet smile and place your lips to his again before he works his way down your body.

He lifted your shift slightly and makes ready to spread your legs, however, you stop him. "Are you okay?" Geralt asks, concerned that he may have somehow gone overboard with the stimulation.

"I am," you assured, "but uh...it's just..." "You're not ready?" "No I am," you insists, "it's just...*sigh* things may not be quite the same down there since last you saw it. My body, it hasn't quite been the same since giving birth."

Geralt gives a small smile, leaning down to press a kiss near your thigh, "you're beautiful, (y/n)," he assures, "you're not the first mother to go through this. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

You smile, and you could've sworn you felt a tear escape your eye. Geralt has been nothing but kind to you since you came here. Whatever happened in the past, both with him and the time you've been apart, he accepted you into his home when you were in most need. He went above and beyond to help you out during and after the pregnancy, and he didn't have to. He didn't owe you anything. Aemma wasn't his daughter, yet he was still there for you and for her.

You feel the witcher dive in between your legs, getting you ready for what was to come this night.

----------------flashback----------------------

"Twice in one day and it's not even high noon," Daemon comments in slight laughter as you and him lay in his bed naked and staring at the ceiling. The prince had a content smile on his face as he placed a hand behind his head.

You weren't really listening to him though, you were still reeling from the fact you allowed this man to take you to his bed once again for another tryst.

Why, you wonder. What possessed you to do this again?

It felt good, there was no denying that, but it didn't change the fact this man was still insufferable.

This also may have been a way to get back at Hightower for pissing you off and indirectly slut shaming you, and infantalizing you when he gave you the tea without your informed consent. But since you drank the tea, you made sure it didn't go to waste; it was well put to use.

"What say we make it a third time?" the sliver blonde prince suggests, bringing your attention back to him.

"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea," you tell him, sitting up. "Why not?" Daemon asks, somewhat confused.

"I uh...oh gods, I did it again," you groan, getting out of bed again, "I actually did it again. Why? Why do I keep doing this?" "Because it feels good?" Daemon suggests, "did I not satisfy you?" "No, you did," you assure, "well, you did a lot more then that, it's just...I'm not sure how long that tea is supposed to last."

"Tea?" "Yeah that strange tasting tea that I guess prevents pregnancy, the one Otto Hightower had the servants bring me." "Otto?" Daemon's ears perked up. "Yeah," you nod, "he...some people apparently caught us together last night and...they went and told him." "Oh, that twat," Daemon mutters, getting up to face you, "did he threaten you in any way?" "Only to keep my legs closed lest I somehow corrupt the impressionable princess," you admit, looking down, "the Lord Hand seems to be under the impression us Continental women are fast and loose compared to Westorosi women. I'm not. Yes I've known other men, but I don't just go throwing myself at every single one I chance across. I have standards."

"I know that," Daemon jokes, lifting your chin so you could face him, "Listen, Otto Hightower is a cunt. He's never been fond of me, and he's spent the last ten years or so poisoning my own brother against me with his little network of spies around King's Landing. If you are worried about him causing you harm or threatening your standing with Rhaenyra, I won't let it come to that."

"As for your worries concerning unwanted consequences from our clandestine trysts," the prince continues, "I can have the kitchen servants bring moon tea to your quarters every evening if you wish. They'll be discrete if I command them to be so. That is..if you wish to continue this little arrangement."

"Arrangement?" "You continue to entertain my niece whenever her whims wish so," Daemon explains, "and then you come entertain me afterwards."

You scoff a bit, turning your back on him. "Why deny yourself this?" Daemon leans in to press kisses to your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you, "I think it a fair arrangement. I can give you whatever you wish. You'll be want to for nothing should you accept." "I'm already want for nothing," you say , fighting the urge to moan from his ministrations, "I'm paid well for my services for the princess."

"Ah, but surely the princess doesn't give you this," Daemon smirks into his next kiss, hands starting to roam, caressing your waist and breast. You couldn't help but let out a loud moan, making the prince smirk even more.

"So, what do you say?" he asks.

You sigh a bit, feeling some self-loathing for even considering this offer. But there was no denying that despite how insufferable this man could be, he sure knew what he was doing when it came to pleasuring his partner. You cup his neck and turn to face him. "I shall take some time to consider this offer," you say, tone turning rather seductive, "in the mean time, how about going a third round as you suggested my Prince, I mean...Daemon?"

Smirking, Daemon picks you up, you wrap your legs around him as he carries you back to the bed.

You don't stay on your back for long as soon as he wraps your legs around him, you put your hands on his chest on push him around till you were sitting on top of him.

Chapter 4

Masterlist

#geralt of rivia #geralt #witcher geralt #ciri #triss merigold #daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #geralt x reader #hotd #the witcher #otto hightower #eskel #lambert #coen #vesemir #kaer morhen #king's landing

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