#come on geralt jaskier just wants a lil kiss :3

[nanero11]

drawn for @geraskierfunday, prompt: injury

[wolf-and-bard]

Of Witchers and Eggs

Summary: Basically what it says in the title. Geralt doesn’t know how to cook eggs (which Jaskier finds adorable and annoying), neither do Aiden and Lambert. Eskel does, but keeps getting bothered by a friend. Contains a handful of swear words. Length: 1.1k

Happy Easter, y’all! <3

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„Fuck,“ Geralt grumbles. „What now?“ He stares daggers into the chicken egg he holds with two fingers, as far away from himself as possible. It’s still warm and a feather clings to it, all courtesy of the little coop from which he stole a handful of them earlier.

„Have you ever even held an egg before?“ Jaskier replies with an unveiled mixture of joy and exasperation. They’ve been here before, but that doesn’t make it less uncomfortable for Geralt who squirms under the weight of his earlier promise.

I want to make something for breakfast. For you and Ciri. Something other than last night’s cold stew or a stale loaf of bread. Grand idea.

“Not never,” Geralt says, gaze swivelling between Jaskier, the egg, and the pan the bard put onto the simmering coals. No time like the present. His hand shakes lightly as he brings the egg to the edge of the pan just a smidge to forcefully. It cracks almost straight through and when Geralt tries to pry it open to fry it, it falls apart, splatters onto his and Jaskier’s thighs where they are pressed together. Some of it lands in the pan, complete with bits of shell in it.

“Oh dear,” Jaskier sighs, and rubs his forehead. He picks bits of shell out of the pan, then decides it’s hopeless and empties the whole thing into the grass. “How are you still alive, dear? I mean I was pampered as a child, but even I know how to fry some eggs.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” Jaskier grins and taps his finger against Geralt’s nose. It’s a bit slimy and cold from the eggs, but the motion has Geralt go cross-eyed and he wants so badly to try again. And again. Until he gets it right.

“I’m sorry.”

“No matter, I can teach you,” Jaskier says. He kisses Geralt softly, his bard, his stupidly forgiving companion, and Geralt draws him closer, cradles his chin. Who cares about eggs anyway?

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“Here you are, pup,” Aiden says with a yawn, joining Lambert by the stove in Kaer Morhen’s kitchen. They are both only half-dressed and the first to get upon this freezing winter morning, but Lambert seems wide awake and intent on bursting the handful of eggs on the counter by directing smothering looks at them. Aiden shrugs inwardly, he won’t even ask what they have done to him. Instead, he draws both arms around Lambert’s middle and nuzzles close. “Where’d those eggs come from?” They definitely aren’t chicken eggs, they’re smaller, grey-tinged and uneven in shape. Still, Aiden’s mouth waters at the thought of popping them into his mouth, nicely cooked with extra salt and pepper added. Why is his stomach always the first thing that’s awake about him?

“I collected them,” Lambert says. He has his palms braced on the counter on either side of the eggs, but leans into Aiden’s touch. His yellow eyes stay trailed on them.

“What? You went out already?” Aiden nibbles on the skin of Lambert’s shoulders, shuffles his feet closer. Jerks back. The hems of Lambert’s breeches are frozen solid and, on closer inspection, his lips are tinged blue. “Lambs, what the heck?”

“I thought we could cook them. You like cooked eggs, don’t you? There are a handful of nests in the stables and I know it’s not the season or whatever, but I did find these. We could have breakfast by the hearth.”

Aiden blinks. This counts among the sweeterthings Lambert has done for him. Luckily, Lambert’s foul mouth is the last thing about him that wakes up. He’s softer in the mornings, more prone to caring and being cared for. Aiden kisses him, then noses at the scratchy hollow of his cheek.

“Thanks… do you know how to cook eggs though?”

“Uhm, don’t you?” Lambert shoots back, eyes darting to Aiden for the first time. They look at each other for a long moment, then Aiden bursts into giggles, Lambert into growls.

“I have no clue.”

“But you eat them all the time.”

“Yes, when other people cook them.”

“It can’t be that hard though, can it?”

Aiden ponders it. It really can’t, they just have to boil it for a bit, right? But these aren’t even chicken eggs. “Let’s just… wait for Vesemir to wake up.”

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Eskel finds himself a nice rock in one of the smaller courtyards, one that is perfect for sitting on, feeling the burn of his muscles from the training sequence he’s just been through and smelling spring’s bloom which is clear and punctuated by soft winds up here in the mountains. After a hunt has left him with a shattered knee and several internal wounds, he decided to remain in Kaer Morhen until he feels fully himself again. The others left weeks ago, Vesemir the last one, and Eskel’s been enjoying the quiet, the peace. He only ever gets to see the spikes and hazards of the keep these days, it’s nice to see it come to life with warm sunlight and blossoms that burst through the cracks.

His knee creaks in protest when he sits, the day a warm kiss on his sweat-glistening skin, and his stomach rumbles. Eskel grins and pats it, then takes a hearty bite of the bread he prepared himself. After Lambert showed him all his secret spots for snatching eggs from nests, Eskel’s been living on a diet of them. They’re just neat. The slab of bread he holds now is buttered, overflowing with scrambled egg and dried herbs and just enough salt to leave him on the comfortable side of thirsty. Eskel’s about to take another bite when something nudges his bad knee.

“Oh,” he says and his grin widens. “Hello there, little one. How are you today?” Lil’ Bleater bleats happily and headbutts his knee again. A hiss of pain travels up Eskel’s leg, but he ignores it in favour of scratching the goat between the horns. It tries to lick at his food.

“Oh, no you don’t. This is mine, there’s plenty of grass and clover and what not around here for you to feast on.” Eskel pauses and tears a huge chunk from his bread which earns him a glare. Lil’ Bleater rears up a little, then quickly licks at the crumbs that have spilled onto Eskel’s thighs, the ground.

“Stop that, you’re going to get yourself sick. I don’t think goats are supposed to eat egg.”

The goat tosses its head, prances around him, licks at Eskel’s elbow. Eskel can feel his heart go soft. Fuck, what is it with these animals that make him so… so… silly. He sighs and holds out his bread. Lil’ Bleater sniffs at it, snorts, then stalks off.

“Told you so,” Eskel mutters. More for him then.

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Brooklyn Baby (John Wick x Reader)

Summary: AU. John knew he was going to regret letting his daughter Daisy throw her 21st birthday party in his house. He just didn’t know how much. Part 2: A little loss of innocence | Part 3: Insatiable Craving | Part 4: Make it Hurt | Part 5: Play with Fire |

Author’s Notes: This is pure filth ok? I have no excuse and I’m sort of scared of my brain for coming up with this idea. Also, this might turn into a series. Someone stop me please!

Wordcount: 1550

Warnings: huge age gap (but everyone is legal); smut (oral; dirty talk; D/S tones; praise kink)

Helen did warn John was going to regret agreeing to this: letting their daughter throw her 21st birthday party in his house. He did consider saying no, but Daisy just batted her brown doe eyes at him, pouting so big that John felt like the worst dad in the face of the earth once again and caved.

He already barely spent time with her since she was off to college and John himself spending so much time away in jobs, which had been the reason he and Helen had grown apart, and even if he still loved her, he understood why she called quits on their marriage.

A sharp high-pitched yell filled the air, the excitement obvious in their tone, and John flinched. Seeing Daisy’s friends made him feel so old that John sneaked down to his workspace in the basement to get away. He considered checking in at the Continental for the night but something told him it would be wiser to stay, but out of sight.

So he refugeed himself down there, focusing on the book he was supposed to be binding, some soft jazz playing on the background to help him focus, but not loud enough to dull John’s senses so he heard the quiet squeak of the third top step of the stairs.

He looked over in time to see a pair of long tanned legs appear into his view, followed by a very small dress that clung to her body like a second skin. John remembered her, she was one of Daisy’s new friends from college, his daughter’s roommate. The girl had been part of the small entourage that arrived earlier to get everything ready for the party. She smiled sweetly at him, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Sorry to bother Mr. Wick, but Daisy can’t find the other packs of beer...”

“On the freezer in the garage,” he replied with a sigh wondering how many drunken youngsters he would have to deal by the end of the night.

“Thanks,” she flashed another smile, attention focusing on her phone for a second before returning to the wall of books behind him. “May I?”

John glanced at the books he had bound and nodded. She moved closer and in the tight space of the basement, he could smell the salt of her skin mixed with the scent of vanilla as she browsed the titles in front of her. John swallowed a lump of lust when she bent slightly to take a closer look at the books on the lower shelves.

He hadn’t been with many women after the divorce and most of the time, it had been quick tumbles to ease the solitude of his life. They were women from his world too, who knew exactly what they were getting into when they chose to get in bed with him. They weren’t younger than him by 30 years, looking soft and sweet and naive and so fucking pure John felt like he was tainting her by just breathing the same air.

“These are so amazing, Mr. Wick,” her hands trailed over the leather spines in a way that looked a lot like a caress, and John couldn’t help but wonder how her hands would feel in his skin. “I have a couple of books, they were my grandpa’s, maybe you could bind them for me?”

“Of course,” he offered her a small smile as she beamed at him and it felt like he was bathing in sunshine. “Just bring them over and I’ll take a look.”

“Thank you so much!”

He wasn’t expecting the kiss on his cheek, much less the way it lingered longer than necessary. Or the way their eyes met, hers full of something John dared not name because it was wrong, and she was his daughter’s friend.

Still, the air was heavy with tension as they gazed into each other’s eyes and John really needed to look away, break this connection because his will was being eroded by the way she caught her plump lower lip between her teeth and the rise and fall of her chest, making her breasts push forward against the delicate lace of her dress.

She took the first step before John could, letting her lips graze against his. Only a soft brush of skin against skin, but it was enough to awake the beast of desire in John. He cupped her nape pulling her closer, kissing her hard, tongue invading her very willing mouth for a kiss.

She tasted so sweet it was addictive and John couldn’t find a way to stop himself, getting to his feet and crowding her against the shelves. God, she was so petite but seemed just as caught in this spell as he was because her small hands seemed to be everywhere on his body, touching and exploring.

“We shouldn’t,” he whispered, hands in her ass, kneading the soft flesh so she would moan in his mouth. “This is wrong.”

“So wrong,” she whispered back, sneaking her hands under his shirt, cataloging his scars with her soft fingers before exposing her neck in offering. “Daisy would kill me if she found out.”

“Don’t let her know,” he mumbled, sucking kisses down the column of her throat, one hand coming to her cunt, finding her so wet beneath the cotton of her underwear.

“Please, Mr. Wick,” she whined, rocking against his exploring fingers, spreading her knees to give more space to work.

All common sense flew from John’s brain, leaving only pure desire and need. His body burned and his cock throbbed as he took in how she looked: completely debauched, head thrown back, legs spread, hips moving against his hand as she cupped her own breasts. She was a sight to behold like this.

“Get on the table,” he ordered taking his hand away and she whimpered at the loss. “I want to see you.”

She obeyed as quickly as she could, taking time only to push the book he was working on to the side before taking a seat. John hovered above her, bending down for another kiss before he hiked her skirt, exposing her to his gaze and pulling off her white panties.

“Look at you, darling,” he sighed, watching her pretty little cunt on display for him. “You’re so wet your dripping on my table.”

She moaned low, a pretty flush rising from her chest to her neck and cheeks as she tried to close her knees, but John kept them open, giving her a warning glare. She wasn’t going to deprive him of this delectable view.

He took a seat on his chair so his face was at the same height as her cunt and ran two of his fingers through her folds, making her shiver and moan. Her sounds were going straight to his dick. John could feel it pressing against his zipper, uncomfortably hard. All he wanted was to bury himself into her tight heat but first, he wanted to explore her.

He brought his mouth closer, spreading her lips with the V of his fingers. John could see her glistening clit and he blew against it, making her shudder before he flickered his tongue and she bucked her hips, a loud moan spilling from her lips.

“So sensitive,” John grinned, repeating his actions again and again and soon she was writhing under his ministrations sobbing almost desperately as he ate her out, drinking on the sweet juices of her pussy, his tongue alternating between little flicks at her clit and broad strokes on her slit to gather all of her wetness.

She chanted pleas of more, trying to rock her hips to get a little more, a little faster, but she was under his power and would take what he was willing to give, nothing more, nothing less. However, John was feeling kind, so he pushed two fingers inside her, making her cries grow louder at the intrusion.

“So tight, darling.” He mumbled against her clit. “I can’t wait to feel you around my cock.” His hardness twitched and pulsed at the thought as he pressed against her g-spot and she arched and shook, a gush of wetness soaking his hand as she came with another cry. “Good girl.”

She heaved and panted, a blissed-out smile in her lips as she recovered and John could feel her walls spasming around his fingers, clenching and trying to pull him deeper. He could already feel the need growing in his chest, his leaking cock leaving a wet spot on his pants. But before he could go any further, John heard the door being pulled open, Daisy calling out her name.

In a flash she was on her feet, fixing her dress and hair, while John hid his problem under the desk just seconds before Daisy walked into view.

“There you are!” She rolled her eyes. “Is my dad boring you with all the bookbinding stuff?”

“Not at all,” she smiled at Daisy, but her gaze flitted his way. “He’s being the perfect host and indulging me.”

“Well, Jack and Don are doing push-ups, so come on!”

Daisy tugged on her hand, all but towing her friend with her, leaving John behind with his ragging hard-on, her white panties and all-consuming guilt in his gut.

xxx

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[goldandlights]

of cherries and dandelions

aka lil virgin!Jas biting off more than he can chew when he propositions Geralt shortly after Posada :(

rating: explicit pairing: geraskier (pre-relationship? it could be read as casual sex) tags: top!Geralt, bottom!Jaskier, first time, sex toys, communication failure, angst and fluff

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It’s summer in Lyria, a mild and pleasant evening, when Jaskier leans over to Geralt and croons some saucy verse about fucking in his ear. There are no other patrons to entertain in the tavern and the young bard honestly expects nothing but the usual glaring and growling from his sourly companion. Even 2 months into their shared travels, the Witcher seems to barely tolerate his presence. Pity... but hey, Jaskier is working on it.

Geralt is as fine a specimen as he has ever seen; tall, broad and strong , with thick arms and even thicker thighs that make the bardling’s mouth water when he imagines sinking down between them. (And the hair! The eyes! -oh, his eyes… )

Between the power to crush the bones in a human’s body, reflexes so fast he can cut an arrow out of the air and senses so acute they can pick up on a mouse rustling through the underbrush half a mile away, the white-haired Witcher was undoubtedly created to be a finely-tuned killing-machine. But Jaskier can find no trace of fear within himself.

In their time together, Geralt has shown himself to be noble and quietly compassionate above all else, avoiding confrontation and violence to the point where he’d rather leave an inn, meal unfinished and bed paid-for but unused, than defend himself against those who hurl abuse (and sometimes sharp objects) at him.

It’s just not fair and so Jaskier has sworn to do anything in his power to improve the situation.

It also makes the sizzling attraction all the worse.

Not only is Geralt stupidly hot, but he’s also kind and oddly charming and it messes with the poor bard quite terribly. He can’t stop sending winks and overt, suggestive glances Geralt’s way. Can’t stop spewing flirtatious remarks and innuendo. The young man has yet to learn how to be anything other than obvious about his desire but he does already know that confidence is the name of the game.

Still, Geralt is Geralt. Tough and experienced and probably entirely straight .

So even if the mental image of all that juicy bulk pressing him down into the sheets makes Jaskier’s prick twitch and leak, he does not expect his actions to incite a response in the other man at all.

That’s his first misjudgement.

Because when faced with the 5th overt come-on in as many hours, for the 6th week in a row, Geralt huffs, rolls his eyes and- stands up?

“Come on, then,” He says gruffly, already turning towards the stairs and Jaskier’s brain grinds to a sudden, jarring halt.

Wait, what.

He stands frozen, gaping unattractively until Geralt notices his hesitation and turns around with a raised eyebrow.

“Or are you all bark and no bite after all?”

Well.

Barely 18 and still rather fresh out of Oxenfurt, Jaskier has been with a whole lot of three women and sucked cock exactly once . -under the watchful eyes of those that still knew him as Julian there hadn’t been many opportunities to experiment.

Still, the bard had his fingers, fantasies and a lovely little toy pulled from a heap of bits and bobs at a novelty shop in Vizima.

It was maybe 6 inches long with a conveniently flared base and a lovely bulge on the upper half. Add just a bit of oil and it slides in easily, the comfortable stretch setting every nerve alight. Jaskier enjoys having it in, even when he’s not hard or trying to get off, and plays with it whenever he can. It’s just so nice to be full, to clench around it, to dream of his body giving a lover pleasure this way.

Is this the opportunity he’d been waiting for? Possibly. If it is though, it’s fast slipping through his fingers. With a grunt as if to say I knew it , Geralt turns and continues his way up the stairs. Shit.

Gathering all his courage, Jaskier shakes himself out of his stupor and stumbles forwards.

When the door to their room falls shut behind him, the bard is already fully hard, blushing furiously at his own over-eagerness when Geralt takes one look at the tent in his breeches and raises a perfectly shaped brow.

Jaskier knows he mustn’t let the nervous energy twisting in his gut bubble over. The Witcher can smell emotion, at least basic ones like joy or fear, and he’ll notice any uncertainty the bard projects. How would he react? Surely Geralt has no use for an inexperienced bed-partner.

Really, Jaskier feels quite out of his depth. In their tiny room, the burly Witcher is doubly imposing and the bard has no frame of reference for how such things between men are carried out. Deciding it’s best not to lose momentum, he puts his lute down against the wall and steps up to where Geralt is standing next to the bed.

Confidence, Jaskier.

He pushes right into the man’s space and kisses him, forcefully, hands going up to grab at the broad chest he’s been staring at lustily for weeks. Immediately, Geralt is kissing back, huge hands settling on Jaskier’s waist.

Biting and sucking on soft, plush lips, he forces Jaskier back a step, then another, curbing any attempt to crowd the Witcher towards the mattress. The young man, however, is too distracted to worry about the shifting power balance. He has two handfuls of Geralt’s thick, bulging pecs to bind his attention and, oh, they’re tensing deliciously as a growl rumbles from the Witcher’s throat.

“I’m not one of your milk-maids, Jas,” he bites out and the bard finds himself picked up and damn near thrown onto the bed as though he weighs nothing at all.

After two months of yearning and awkward boners, the youthful bardling finally gets his wish of being buried alive under 200 pounds of excitable Witcher, keening and whining as he’s absolutely ravished . Either Geralt also has some sexual frustration to burn through or he’s always that intense -at least it leaves no room for nervousness.

Within minutes, Jaskier’s doublet and undershirt have been shoved off and the Witcher’s face is buried in the hair on his chest, breathing him in, sword-calloused fingers pulling and pinching at the bard’s nipples. Pain transforms into tingling pleasure and Jaskier barely contains a cry.

He had never thought to play with his chest this way; a most grievous oversight. When Geralt’s mouth latches onto one of the stiff little nubs, licking and sucking, eager little mewls start spilling from Jaskier’s mouth. Sweet Melitele . If anything, he seems to be the milk-maid in this scenario.

There’s nothing soft about the body atop of him, nothing that gives to the frenzied clutch of his hands. Geralt has divested himself of his shirt as well and Jaskier runs his hands mindlessly over the skin he can reach, drinking in the unfamiliar sensations of coarse hair and scarring under his fingertips.

The urge to spread his legs like a 3 ducat whore is a bit embarrassing but undeniable. And it’s really not fair when life rewards his shamelessness with a Witcher’s hard belly pushing down onto his prick. Jaskier nearly spills then and there from the friction. He’s so fucking hard and they haven’t even done anything yet.

If Geralt notices the wet spot at the front of his trousers, he doesn’t say anything -which is a rather small mercy overall, considering the thoughtful look the older man levels at Jaskier when he draws back, sitting up between wantonly splayed thighs to examine the young body underneath him.

“Sensitive, are you?” Geralt murmurs, drawing his calloused palms down the length of Jaskier’s quivering body.

They’re warm, so warm as they run along his vulnerable belly and sides. A gentle, soothing pressure which brings momentary respite from the urgent throbbing between Jaskier’s legs. Goosebumps prickle over his skin.

Jaskier moans breathlessly, arching his back as Geralt rubs his thumb over the soft little bump below his navel. It is answer enough.

To distract and discourage further questioning, Jaskier catches one of the Witcher’s thick wrists in one hand and makes grabby motions with the other. Even when not pitted against a Witcher’s heightened senses, Jaskier is a terrible liar. He worries if Geralt starts asking questions, the truth about his previous experience -or lack thereof- will slip out.

He’s in luck though; Geralt looks surprised but simply obliges the wordless demand.

Happily buried under a mountain of Witcher again, Jaskier seeks out his slightly chapped lips for another lovely kiss. It’s addictive. Their mouths meet languidly, and he relishes in the opportunity to card his fingers through the other man’s beautiful white hair.

Geralt, surprisingly, does not protest and does not, for the moment, make any motions towards getting on with the programme. He actually seems quite happy to stay in that position for a bit, simply enjoying the warmth and closeness of their bodies as Jaskier works to calm his racing heart.

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“I want to see you suck my cock.”

Spoken softly into the unexpectedly peaceful silence, Geralt’s murmur is carefully undemanding. His hungrily roaming hands, however, give away the desire hidden underneath. Nodding to the unspoken request, Jaskier lets go of the Witcher’s soft tresses to watch him undress.

That’s when Jaskier realises his second misjudgement of the night.

He knows himself to be quite average in length and girth. With his little glass toy being similarly sized, Jaskier had thus felt quite safe in the belief that, whatever his first proper male conquest was packing, he’d be able to handle it just fine.

Except that nothing about Geralt was ever average. Not his appearance, not his strength and not, apparently, his fucking dick.

>>>>> read the rest on ao3

[brexrif]

The White Wolf: My Hero Part 3

The White Wolf: My Hero Part 3

REQUEST: “Can I ask you a romantic scenario with Geralt and a shy girl who starts to follow him and Jaskier after Geralt saved her life? Can I ask you to add some smut too? If you are comfortable with that. Can I ask you to make the girl a virgin too?”

I have really been enjoying working off of this request! It’s gettin’ a lil wild up in here with three parts! You’ll know by the end of this one, that it’s still not the end either. 

I recommend reading PART ONE and PART TWO before diving into this third installation of the series!

Please enjoy any other Geralt smutty goodness on my MASTERLIST! It is all smutty and filthy, you have been warned.

Warnings: light smut, mostly fluff 

Gif credit to @witches-ground​ go to them for all your Geralt gif needs 

Just to remind you where Part 2 ended:

“Fuck” he said through gritted teeth as his cock slowed inside you. Geralt’s head snapped to the door suddenly, his cock still sheathed inside you draining the last drops.

You were still panting and enjoying the feeling of his warmth spreading through you, when-

“Y/N? Are you alright?” Felix. Just outside your door.

PART THREE: 

Geralt pulled himself from you begrudgingly and rolled off the bed .He stood in the light of the fire, his cock still hard as it began to slow. Your eyes widened, and though you wanted to relish in the euphoria of your first time, Felix was now at the door and you needed excuses. You attempted to cover yourself with blankets, suddenly being overwhelmed with fear and a twinge of shame.

 “Um, yes! Felix, I am just fine, thank you.” You raised your voice so he could hear you and shifted up in your bed, feeling Geralt’s seed leak from between your legs.

 “I could have sworn I saw that Witcher come up after you, but I was so busy-uh, it was a while ago at this point” You could hear him getting closer to the door, as if he was listening in carefully. Surely, Geralt could hear exactly how close he was to the door. He quickly pulled on his leather trousers, shoving his semi-hard cock in and tying the laces quickly. You already began to mourn the loss of this magnificent sight.

 “I’ll handle this,” you whispered quietly to Geralt. You raised your voice a bit for Felix, “Um, no. Everything is fine I didn’t see Geralt up here.” You rose from the bed, dragging the blanket with you as a makeshift cover. As you walked to the door curiously, the drag of your blanket pulled over Geralt’s sheath and two swords, which were precariously resting against a stool in your room. They went clanging loudly to the ground before you or Geralt could react.

 “Y/N! I’m coming in!”

 Felix pushed open the door and Geralt grabbed him before he could realize what was going on. Geralt moved quickly, shirtless still and sweaty pinning Felix against the wooden post in your bedroom with a hand on his mouth. (another fic in this moment alone, I’m sure)

 “Felix, calm down and don’t yell! I don’t want father to overhear,” you said calmly. You walked over to Felix and Geralt while holding the blanket securely over your breasts. Geralt clearly had the same fears as his first move was to cover Felix’s mouth. Felix was struggling against Geralt and looking at him wickedly, seething. Suddenly, he brought a knee to Geralt’s crotch and ducked out under his grasp. Geralt, who was no doubt extra sensitive in this region right now, was bent over breathing labored breaths and hissing.

 Felix grabbed you and pulled you to the opposite corner of the room, lifting his axe towards Geralt protectively. “You stay away from her Witcher!” he warned, pushing you into the corner and shielding you from the very man you were just making love with.

 “Felix, it’s okay! Geralt means me no harm!” Geralt coughed and straightened himself up. He was much taller and thicker than Felix. The muscles on one of his arms likely made up the entire muscle mass of Felix’s string-bean, boy body. He raised his hands and approached slowly.

 “Let’s talk this out. I’m not going to fight you” Geralt said cooly.

 “Like hell you aren’t!” Felix charged at Geralt swinging the axe again. He was very brave, you’ll give him that. Geralt effortlessly grabbed the axe by the hilt, tossed it to the ground and wrapped Felix’s scrawny arm behind his back in a hold that rendered him defenseless.

 “I am not going to fight you.” Geralt said again, more irritated this time, moving Felix to the same post he had been pinned to earlier. “We are going to talk and you are going to keep it down, or I will have to keep you quiet and I don’t want to have to do that.”

 You followed them quickly and eagerly. “Felix, listen to Geralt. Let me explain.”

 “I do not like this Y/N. I do not like this one bit,” Felix argued, but you could see him breaking under Geralt’s hold and your pleading eyes.

 “I doubt he needed to get you all out of your skirts to have a look at those wounds again” Felix spat at Geralt.

 “Umm. No. We were just-“

 “None of your god damn business.” Geralt interrupted, tightening his hold.

 “Fuck off, you filthy mutant. She’s much too good for your like” Felix barked back at him.

 “Both of you, cut it out!” You moved over and placed a light hand on Geralt’s bare back, shuddering at the feel of his skin under your fingers again. Felix noticed your tender and familiar touch.

 “Really, Y/N? A Witcher?” Felix turned, looking at you pleadingly now. You could see the wound spread right from his heart to the creases on his forehead. His brow furrowed and his eyes seemed to grow bigger, glossier.

 “Geralt is a kind man, Felix.” You moved closer and Geralt loosened his grip as Felix began to give in to temporary heartbreak in place of rage. “But you cannot tell my father about this. Please, for me, you cannot tell him.”

 Felix could not hide his distaste and disappointment. He clenched his jaw and shifted his eyes between you and Geralt.

 “You better get out of here, Witcher. Before I change my mind. I’m only letting you leave for Y/N” Geralt released his grip on Felix. He stretched his arms dramatically and regained his physical composure, staring daggers at Geralt the entire time. He grabbed his axe and headed to leave in a huff. When he turned to shut the door, he left with one long look at you. He downcast his eyes and shut the heavy door behind him.

 “That kid is so pathetic for you” Geralt scoffed. You cast your gaze to the floor, genuinely feeling bad for Felix’s hurt feelings. Geralt crossed to you and took your chin in his hands, bringing your face back up to his. “But I can’t blame him.” He held your attention with his amber eyes, soft and his chiseled face drew into a gentle smile. He pulled your chin in and kissed you deeply, you dropped the blanket to wrap your arms around Geralt’s massive shoulders. His hands slid down your bare sides once again, leaving a trail of delicious tingles in their wake. You melted in his hold again, your whole body going slack in his arms. He held you so easily, cradling your love-weak limbs carefully, just as he had carried you wounded from the forest.

 His tongue swept effortlessly into your mouth, teasing you upwards and bringing you right back to the vulnerable bliss you had been enjoying before. You felt the crest of your folds tighten and your core contract, allowing the last of Geralt’s cum to leak out and on to your unstable thighs. He must have sensed your involuntary reaction as his fingers began wandering down to feel your warmth there again. He pressed the large pad of his middle finger between your wet lips as you stood, slicking his finger before dexterously winding it around the bulb of your clit. You moaned into his mouth and weakened at his expert touch. You felt Geralt twitch beneath his trousers and you ground your hips on his fingers, eager for another round.

 “I do care for you, Y/N” Geralt hummed, curling his finger inside you carefully, eliciting a contented mewl from your already parted lips. Geralt began gently guiding you to the bed again, the bulge in his trousers was impatient, but his eyes were gentle, loving. He removed his fingers from between your legs and you whined at his absence. He set you on the edge of the bed and looked at you carefully. His angular face, scarred and weathered was soft for you. His gaze was slow and lingering, his lithe smile was loose and you could feel a warmth spread through you. Though you sat so vulnerably now, on the edge of the bed for him, naked, yet you never have felt safer.

 “Look at you” he admired you aloud, tilting his head a bit. You smiled and your cheeks flushed at the compliment. Geralt drew near to you on the bed again and gently began pushing your legs apart. Your heart was racing and you braced for more. Geralt would guide you through another lesson in pleasure and euphoria under his touch.

 Just then there was another rap at the door, hurried and timid.

 “Erm Um, Geralt?” It was Jaskier.

 “What” Geralt growled, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes with frustration. He had not intended to be interrupted again.

 “There’s a bit of a situation cooking up down in the pub, I think you might um” Geralt covered you carefully with the blanket and crossed to the door, opening it a crack.

 “I overheard the apprentice boy mentioning something about you to the girl’s father and I just..well, given your history with folks in these regards and..”

 “Let him come then. I have nothing to hide.”

 “Geralt! Please!” you rose from the bed, dawning your blanket dress yet again. He turned to you, his expression turned from irritated to concerned. The urgency in your voice rousing the part of him that so decidedly needed to protect you.

 “I will speak to my father. Allow me to handle this alone. He will not listen to you right now, not like this.” You gestured to your obvious nakedness.

 “I’d rather face him like a man. You don’t need to put up with his ridicule.” Geralt looked away from you, his pride clenching through his jaw.

 “Geralt, please.” You extended a hand to graze the impressive muscles in his upper arm, pleading and comforting.

 “Fine.” He was not satisfied, but struggled to say no to you. “Jaskier, go create a distraction. I’ll leave out the window and meet you outside with Roach.” He directed. He had shifted gears and was in the same problem solving state you had seen him dressing your wounds.

 “Right!” Jaskier agreed and left quickly to distract your father below.

 You threw the blanket back on your bed, and quickly fussed to get back into your dress from earlier. Geralt was hurriedly putting his clothes back on as well, but stopped to admire you briefly.

 “We don’t have time for that now!” You scolded playfully, tugging at the strings to your corset.

 Geralt stood, dressed as before. He slung his swords over his back and had all of his things gathered. He was such an impressive man, so tall and broad in his armor. A pang of worry erupted in your gut as you looked to him, dressed and prepared to leave you. It must have spread over your face, because Geralt moved forward to embrace you.

 “I will be back for you in the morning. Wait for my signal and we will figure things out. On my word” he squeezed your hands and bent forward to kiss your lips one last time before heading to your small window.

 “Geralt, that’s such a high-” But he was gone. He maneuvered his large body through the window, lowered himself with the power of his upper body strength, and climbed to the streets below.

 You finished adjusting your dress and your hair accordingly and put yourself back into bed and under the covers quickly. Surely enough, your door was being battered at again. This time, a more familiar knock.

 “Yes, father?”

“Y/N! I’m coming in!” Your father barged into your room with an axe and two other men behind him, armed and ready.

 “What ever is the matter, father?” You asked innocently.

 “Where’s the Witcher, Y/N?” He asked impatiently.

 “I thought he was at the Rosemary and Thyme?” you responded, sitting up in bed and exaggerating pain in the wounds on your arms that was no longer existent.

 “Don’t sit up darlin’, it’s okay. Felix just said..”

 “Felix? Has he been drinking the ale again?”

 “Nay, Y/N. Felix said that Witcher was up here defilin ya and I, well-” your father seemed embarrassed, lowering his weapon and shooing off the men that flanked behind him.

 “No, father. But we must talk, I think.”

 Your father started across the room to you slowly, shaking his head, and closing the door behind him. He looked at you caring, as he always had. Since your mother died at a young age, your father became more protective of you, to a fault at times. He relied on you to help in the pub a great deal, but your safety and wellbeing was his treasure. Clearly, ignoring your wishes, Felix struck a nerve in your father. And you can hardly blame him for his prejudice, your father had always been close minded, grown up in an older world that didn’t trust magic, Witchers or mutants. You knew you had to fight through his ingrained prejudices and convince him that Geralt was different.

 The feelings that Geralt had roused in you were undeniable. You could not escape them. Even now, without his hands on you, reassuring and his soft eyes caring after you, you felt amiss. You ached for his caring and tender presence. Your heart warmed at the thought of him, and it gave you some courage for the conversation to follow. You could never have him if your father thought so ill of him.

 “What’s going on, Y/N? Is it your arms? Did that Witcher bust them up even worse?” Your father accused, looking over your arms, already upset.

 “No father, quite the opposite. I think you should reconsider your hostile feelings for Geralt. He did save me after all,” you pleaded, making yourself small and playing up your innocence. You knew your father had a soft heart for you and maybe this was the only way to get him to come around.

 “I don’t know Y/N. I don’t trust Witchers. And any simple fool could see the way he was lookin’ at ye. I did not take to likin that one bit.” He retorted seriously.

 “Well…perhaps Geralt is looking at me in a caring way. Perhaps he has good intentions for his…friendship with me” you offered, averting your eye contact and bracing for distaste.

 “Friendship? What is this you’re telling me, daughter?” your father rose, growing angry.

 “No- nothing! Well. I would just like you to back off Geralt a little bit, father! We have become..friends!” You sat up, trying to defend yourself and gather your thoughts. 

 “He didn’t..Did he? Did he bed my daughter? Did that mutant son of a whore bed my daughter?” your father grew angrier again, grabbing his axe this time.

 “You are jumping to conclusions, father! I just ask that you listen to me, your daughter, instead of Felix and have some patience for Geralt!”

 “I do not have patience for a mutant to bed my daughter, Y/N. I do not. You will never see him again, I absolutely forbid it.”

 “Father, no!” tears gathered in the corners of your eyes.

 “Forbid it. For your sake, I will not go huntin’ after this mutant filth, but if I should see him again, his head is mine.”

 Your father grabbed his axe and left you in your room. You sat on the bed and the tears began to flow. You felt betrayed, Felix had blatantly lied to you, no doubt motivated by a broken heart. Your father would never understand how you and Geralt cared for one another. He wouldn’t be able to see past Geralt being a Witcher and you being his only daughter.

 ……………………

 You had spent the night alone in your room, overcome by your thoughts. You moved quickly throughout your things, packing belongings into a large leather pack. You weren’t exactly sure what you were doing yet, but you knew you had to follow Geralt someway or another. You hid the pack underneath your blankets and head down the steps to assess things with your father and Felix. You kept your senses sharp, on the lookout for a signal from Geralt.

 Felix had a broom and was furiously sweeping the far corner of the pub underneath some long wooden tables. He looked up at you when you came down the stairs and you scowled at him. You conjured the daggers within you and stared him down heavy. He turned on his heel and continued his work, really driving the broom into the wooden floor. Your father was behind the bar fussing with some mugs.

 “There she is,” your father smiled at you. You felt some pain at the thought of leaving him, but you knew you had a life awaiting outside of this pub, outside of this village and with Geralt of Rivia.

 “Good morning, father” you spoke despondently to remind him of the coldness of your last interaction.

 “A young girl came by with this for ya’” your father stated, picking up on your edge and shoving over a basket brimming full of your favorite herb. The kelly green color and the striking fractal pattern brought you delight, thinking of the teas you could make. Though it reminded you of picking it before, when Geralt saved you from near death-

 Was this the sign?

 You took the basket and made yourself scarce at a far table in the pub. You dove a careful hand deep into the basket and found a piece of parchment. His handwriting was gruff and his sentiment to the point; how very like him.

 “Meet me by the gates leading out of town. I’d like to say goodbye. – Geralt”

...............................................................................

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[ladyreapermc]

Birthday Challenge Day 13 (2002/2003)

Requested by: @meetmeinthematinee​

Song: Underneath it All by No Doubt

Wordcount: 531

Warnings: Fluff

Pairing: John Constantine x Reader

You blinked groggily, the pounding on your door sounding like someone was trying to kick the barrier down as if the hounds of hell were on their tail and this was the only refugee against the beasts.

It was 3 in the morning and you knew exactly who would be on the other side.

Turning on your back, you sighed and stared at the ceiling, contemplating on what to do. If you let Constantine out there, he was gonna wake up all of your neighbors and you would end up with another official complaint in your record. If you opened that door, you knew you and him would fall in bed once again and that was the last thing you needed.

The pounding got louder and now he was shouting your name, his voice slurred, tongue unnaturally twisting the syllables and that was what sealed the deal. You got up and headed to the front door, making sure the chain was in place before you cracked it open just enough to look at Constantine.

He was a mess, suit dirty and ripped, a black eye and a torn lip as he tried to focus his gaze on you. He whiffed off a cloud of bourbon and you pulled back once it hit you, making you gag. You so didn’t need this right now. Or ever.

“What the hell you want, John?”

“Can we talk?” he asked, stumbling forward and trying to push the door open wilder, but the chain held. “Come on, love. Don’t be like that.”

“Why don’t you go talk to your detective?”

You hated how bitter and petty the words had come out, but not even the most understanding of girlfriends – and could you even call yourself John’s girlfriend? – would be immune to the sight of their loved one flirting and sharing meaningful gazes with a woman as beautiful and amazing as Angela Dodson.  

You tried to push the door closed, but Constantine planted his hand on it, forcing it to stay open.

“Please,” he asked his gaze softening as he sighed.

He looked so pathetic and it tugged at your heartstrings, because no matter how many times Constantine played you, pulled on that rough, badass jerk façade, you knew the man underneath. You might be one of the only people who ever got a glimpse of it and it gave you hope that maybe one day, he would be able to open up more and let that side of his shine through more often, but that would take some work and another chance on your part.

“Fine,” you huffed and this time, when you tried to push the door closed, Constantine didn’t stop you. You undid the chain and opened the door again, letting John step inside and catch you into a kiss that tasted of malt and copper. “Get your ass in the shower. You smell like a distillery.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned at you, kissing you once again and you melted in his arms. You were stupid, pathetic, and weak. Constantine had you wrapped around his little finger and you couldn’t even summon the will to care. You just loved that jerk way too much.

xxx

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