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they won’t sacrifice an elder, not wanting the spirit to feel slighted - they pick from those still full of life, at the height of their strength or at least coming into it. Julian - or, Jaskier, as he prefers to be called - draws the short straw.

they dress him up in the nicest clothes they can put together, paint his eyes with ashes for they don’t have kohl and pinch his cheeks and lips until they redden. Then, they tie his hands behind his back and lead him to where they usually leave their gifts for geralt. they tie Jaskier to a tree, so he doesn’t run, sing a prayer and leave him alone, trembling with fear.

Jaskier’s heart hammers against his ribcage, the sound terribly loud in the silence of the forest. he expects to be killed, to be ripped apart and devoured, and he weeps, mourning the life he won’t ever get to live.

he nearly jumps out of his skin when geralt appears. he finds there is no need for the rope, because he’s paralyzed with fear.

the leshen is huge, at least twice as tall as Jaskier. it’s body seems to be wooden; its hands end in long, sharp claws. it wears a bit of leather, secured around its waist with frayed rope. on its head, a deer’s skull with a very ipressive set of antlers sits, white with age, and beneath it, hidden in shadow what seems to be the leshen’s face. it’s a thing crudely carved into rough bark, but it looks somewhat human - except for those yellow glowing eyes, slitted like a cat’s.

geralt knows why this boy is here - he’s a sacrifice. the villagers probably think he’ll be devoured - and judging by the overwhelming smell of fear coming from the boy, he must be thinking the same - but that’s not what geralt wants him for.

“don’t be afraid, little one,” geralt says, and to jaskier it sounds little like the creak of old wood. “I won’t eat you.” he reaches for the rope that ties him to the tree and cuts it with his claws, leaving jaskier free to run, showing his good will.

jaskier is hesitant, though. “and what will you do with me?”

geralt gently grasps him in his hands, careful not to scratch him with his talons, and brings him closer to his face, looking him over. he nods to himself when he finds the boy satisfactory. “i will mate you,” he explains. “i will breed you, and you will carry my children, little one.”

jaskier squawks and struggles in geralt’s grip, even though it’s futile. “what - but - i’m a boy! not a girl!“

“doesn’t matter,” geralt assures him. “all members of your species are able to carry my children.”

jaskier swallows, and stays quiet. Geralt carries him to his lair, the small cave that’s the closest thing he has to a home - or, more like a warehouse, since his home is the entire forest, and this is just where he keeps all the gifts he gets - but he knows that he has to offer a fixed place of comfort to his mate, since the little one has to be kept warm and safe to be healthy and he has to be healthy to carry geralt’s children.

there are warm furs strewn on the ground, and he lays the human on them. the boy struggles to sit up, his hands still bound behind his back - geralt forgot about those. he turns the boy to lie on his side and cuts the rope with his claw, careful not to hurt the human’s delicate hands.

“thank you,” the boy whispers as he rubs the rope marks on his wrists. he still smells afraid, but not as much as before.

“would you like something to eat?” geralt asks.

the boy’s eyes go wide with surprise - though, to geralt, it seems to be a good kind of surprise. “oh, yes please,” he breathes. “I’m starving.”

geralt searches for something a human might be able to eat - he finds dried meat and fruit, nuts, honey - and presents the feast to the boy. the human scarfs it down, the food gone in a moment, and only when he’s licking his fingers clean, he seems to remeber - “uh, thank you. for that.”

geralt gives him the closest he gets to a smile.

“um, my name is Jaskier - i mean, Julian, but - but i do prefer Jaskier - “

“buttercup,” geralt says. “it suits you, little one. pretty and bright and delicate, but there’s more to it than meets the eye. i’m geralt.”

jaskier flushes a pretty shade of pink. “thank you, geralt.” there’s only the faintest trace of fear in his scent, now. he’s quiet, obviously fighting with himself to ask a question - geralt waits, patient, until jaskier finds his voice and asks in a small voice, “will it... hurt, when you mate me?”

“yes,” geralt admits, “but only a little. i will make an effort to minimize your pain, and to bring you as much pleasure as i can.”

something intrigued, excited blooms in jaskier’s scent. “and when I carry your children? will that hurt?”

“It won’t hurt any more than it hurts human women that carry human men’s children,” geralt says, “and i will bring you remedies for any pain or sickness you might experience. so no, you won’t be hurting.”

jaskier gives him a shy smile. “are we going to start now?”

“we can wait a little, if you want to take some time to acclimatize,” geralt allows, “but i would like you to be bred up before the first frost. we’d have to wait ‘til the spring otherwise - “

“I have no idea why that sounded as hot as it did,” jaskier mutters, and then he tells geralt, “we can start now.”

geralt’s claws make quick  work of jaskier’s clothes. the boy frowns at this, but geralt knows he’ll have no use for clothes during his stay with geralt, since the spirit will keep him naked to be always easily accesible, wrapped only in furs to stay warm. the boy is skin and bone, obviously he wasn’t exaggerating when he told him he’s starving - he proobably hasn’t had a full belly in a long time, always half-hungry so that everyone would get at least something to eat -

“with me, you will never be hungry again,” geralt promises. “I’ll keep you well-fed, little one, i’ll take care of you.”

“thank you,” jaskier says. “that sounds nice.”

geralt touches him carefully, keeping his claws light on his pale skin, so they only lightly scratch and don’t cut - jaskier wriggles under these touches, his flush spreading from his face down to his chest, his nipples hardning, his cock plumping up -

“you need to prepare yourself,” geralt tells him, giving him a vial of linseed oil that the villagers gave him time ago. “i can’t do it, i’d hurt you.”

jaskier takes the vial and slicks up his fingers. he doesn’t hesitate much - he teases himself open, and then slips in the first finger. He sighs.

“have you done this before?” geralt asks.

“a few times,” jaskier agrees, fucking himself with one finger. “alone... and with friends.”

geralt is glad that his mate has a little experience with these things. it always goes better when one knows what to expect. jaskier adds a second finger, scissoring them, allowing geralt a glimpse inside -

geralt tugs at the rope keeping his leather covering in place until it comes undone and the leather falls to the ground.

Jaskier lets out a surprised gasp.

geralt’s cock is big, but it has a distinctly human shape - the only thing off about it is that it’s green. with his free hand, jaskier reaches out to touch it. he runs his fingers over it, gives it a little squeeze - it doesn’t feel entirely like human flesh, jaskier suspects it might be plant matter, but it has a head with a slit that drips transluescent, sticky fluid and a foreskin that can be moved back and forth, and beneath it hangs a pair of balls, just as green as the dick, so it is close enough -

jaskier gets to his third finger, and then, after another look spared to geralt’s massive length, he ads a fourth, stretching himself as far as he’ll go.

they line up geralt’s green cock with jaskier’s gaping hole. geralt presses in, slowly, letting jaskier adjust. Jaskier relaxes and lets geralt into his body, inch by inch, until he finally feels the rough bark of geralt’s thighs brush against his ass.

geralt gives and experimental thrust, and when the only thing it does is to wring a moan of pleasure out of jaskier, he decides it’s safe to go on. they quickly find a rhythm, geralt pounding jaskier’s ass and jaskier moving his hips to meet his movements. jaskier whines and wails as he’s fucked, chanting geralt’s name as if it is his own personal prayer - and perhaps it is - until geralt spills inside him.

Jaskier is about to complain about not being granted an orgasm as well, but then geralt pulls out, flips him on his belly and fucks right back into him,  picking up right where he left off. jaskier sneaks his hand between his legs and strokes himself in time with geralt’s thrusts - the next time the forest spirit comes, jaskier does as well.

that’s when he notices -

his belly is definitely more pronounced than it was before.

geralt starts fucking him again, hard and fast, hammering away at jaskier’s insides, and jaskier decides not to thing about his stomach just yet and stroke his dick back to hardness -

but the next time geralt comes into him, he can see the bulge getting bigger and it clicks - he’s so full of geralt’s cum that he’s swelling with it. “fuck,” he cries, “fuck, geralt - “

“yes, little one?”

“I’m stuffed so full i look pregnant already!” jaskier exclaims.

geralt hums, curious, and rolls his mate back on his back. he looks over jaskier’s belly, traces the shape of it with his claw.

“Little one,” he chuckles, “you are nowhere near being ‘full’.”

jaskier looks down at the considerable bulge of his stomach. Nowhere near... he shivers, but it’s not a bad shiver. “Oh, shit,” he moans, “fuck, go on, come on, get me full - “

Geralt ignored him. He  came to sit at the edge of the bed where Jaskier lay, trussed up as he was with his ankles bound by his shoulders, his wrists behind his back. The position left his arse and his cock vulnerable, on display; and for hours Geralt had come and gone, toying with him as he pleased. His hole was well-stretched, now, having been worked open on thick fingers; the rim red and leaking spit and oil into the hay-stuffed mattress. His cock was aching from abuse, from being denied release. He felt as though he’d soon lose his mind. 

Geralt wrapped his dry hand around Jaskier’s cock.

“No, don’t,” he cried. 

Geralt squeezed him. His touch was kept light, as though he were holding Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier’s cock had wilted during Geralt’s most recent absence, but now, under his renewed attentions, it sprang back to half-hardness. The pain was terrible. As was the rush of pleasure. It came fast enough that Jaskier was momentarily made dizzy by it, his head floating in some lovely, strange place above his shoulders. The flicker of the lamplight seemed brighter, there. The air seemed more clean. He was allowed only a moment to simmer in that fine heat, in the pleasant clench of pelvic muscle that precluded coming.

Geralt abruptly let go of him and slapped his open palm across Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier squealed. The pain juddered through him, a shock that set all his nerves alight and exploded behind his eyelids; and he bucked, tried once more to heave himself off of the bed, his thighs shaking as leaves did during storm-winds. Geralt slapped him once more. Jaskier warbled like a songbird, forced himself to settle.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, “be good for me.”

“I am, Geralt, please. I have been.” He sniffled. He was crying again, fresh tears dripping down his flushed cheeks. He could endure no more. He braced himself against the unpleasant squirm of humiliation in his guts; begged, as he had been reduced to it: “Please, let me come.”

“Do you think you deserve to?”

“No, but I - I do want to. It hurts so much.”

Geralt hmed, and grasped him. Held him now in a firmer grip, enough so that when he stroked Jaskier root to tip, his callouses scraped his raw skin. His cockhead was wet and blood-red, stark against the white of Geralt’s fist.

“You leak like a woman,” Geralt said. His strokes sped up. Jaskier struggled to keep his hips from moving, tried to steady his pathetic heart. “I’ve done my best to teach you patience, but you’re a poor student.”

Geralt’s wrist twisted. Jaskier jerked upward, into the tight tunnel of Geralt’s fist. He felt his balls draw up, a pressure build at the base of his cock; a thin wash precome spurted out of him, dripping down over Geralt’s fingers, and he was so close, so close. The end was so near. He would come across Geralt’s thick knuckles. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, chastising. The grip that had held him was gone, and his cock was left to bob between his legs, red and leaking. The room’s cool air like a strike to his overworked flesh. “Jaskier, pay attention.”

“I am paying attention, you absolute bastard,” he bit out. Then, after a moment, “sorry, I’m sorry.”

Geralt chuckled.

Once his erection was no longer throbbing, Geralt curled his hand loosely around him once more. He tugged at him cruelly. When Jaskier blinked away the sheen of tears that clouded his vision he saw that Geralt was not even looking at him. His gaze had shifted, away from the bed, away from Jaskier’s heaving body. The hand around him stopped being anything but painful. How could his suffering not even be worth Geralt’s regard?

He was close. So close. If Geralt would only continue to stroke him just a moment longer. He shuddered, felt his cock throb; and it was so much like the pulse of coming that he was certain he had finally reached the end, that Geralt had allowed him to reach his peak. 

Geralt’s hand pulled away. 

Jaskier nearly screamed with the pain and the frustration of it, having been so near the precipice and having been torn away from it, having again been denied. His body lurched forward, searching blindly for stimulation. He would do anything for it. He ground his feet against the mattress, grasping at it with his toes, as though he could find relief somewhere in the hay mound. 

“Fuck, please,” he said. He was on fire. Rocking himself through a full-body ache. “Please, please. Let me come, let me come.”

Geralt swung his eyes back to Jaskier. His sharp eyes raked over him, every quivering, red inch.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes! Yes, please, Geralt, please.”

Geralt smiled. Jaskier could see the sharp points of his teeth.

“Alright.”

-----

He screamed against Geralt’s palm. His face was so wet with his crying, his eyes so clouded, that he could see nothing. It was like the blindfold, almost. Another way of rendering him in some way insensate.

Geralt pumped his fist along Jaskier’s soft cock. His orgasm had finally been wrung from him; he’d come messily, painfully, a swell of come that dribbled out of him and over Geralt’s fingers. A wave that had crested, but Geralt, greedy for his distress, kept pulling. 

Geralt refused to stop touching him. Refused to stop wringing him, though he’d long ago become dry, The pain was excruciating. Entirely unlike any other pain. The color and sound had drained from the world, as surely as his orgasm had been drained from his cock, until his focus was narrowed down to that single point of agony, the nesting ache that had overtaken the entirety of his cock and arse and all the space between his thighs.

His body curved in, hunched over itself, strained desperately against the rope. He felt mindless, ruined; between screaming, he begged, but all entreaties for mercy were uniformly spurned. Geralt only pulled at him harder, his golden eyes glittering, cruelly, in the dying light.

He’d jumped at the chance, unrepentant slut that he was, but standing there with the wolf-men surrounding him, staring at him as if they weren’t sure whether to fuck him or eat him, he was starting to get a bit nervous. But Geralt was there, Geralt wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. Jaskier steeled himself and nodded, signaling it was time to start.

The leader (did they really call him the alpha? How cliche) got first dibs, manhandling him onto his knees, ass in the air. Geralt had slicked him up real good with oil just a few minutes ago, but any prep seemed insignificant with the giant cock he’d got a glimpse of prodding at his hole. It had to be the size of his forearm, bigger than anything he’d ever taken before. Not tensing up at the prospect of that spearing him open was nigh on impossible. 

Of course the werewolf didn’t bother waiting for him to calm. The moment his giant cock began pressing in, it was almost too much. The bard’s nerves lit up with pain and pleasure, mingling and causing him to gasp and writhe, trying to escape the inexorable stretch. It was futile, the clawed hands on his hips preventing anything but the tiniest of movements, but he couldn’t stop the instinctive reaction. It felt like he was getting torn in two, every movement blissful agony. And it just seemed to go on, and on, and on. 

By the time he felt coarse hair brush up against the backs of his thighs, he was panting like he’d been running for hours, fighting to relax his muscles enough so that the bliss of being penetrated overrode the pain of the stretch. He only had a moment to wonder if his poor little asshole had torn before the cock was retreating again, taking his organs along with it.

That’s what it felt like, at least. Like he was being hollowed out, the lack of ample slick meaning that he could feel the friction against the walls of his channel. He whined at the emptiness left behind, before the cock began thrusting in once more and beginning the process anew.

With each thrust, it became easier, his insides parting more quickly, more eagerly yielding to the monster inside of him, and soon he was getting properly pounded, moaning like a bitch in heat. On each thrust, the cockhead would scrape against his sweetspot, making him go cross-eyed in pleasure, hips bucking against the hold, this time trying to get more. He was acting like a filthy slut and he knew it, getting reamed like it was his life that depended on it.

The thrusts became erratic, and he knew the alpha was close to coming. But what he hadn’t expected was the already huge dick to begin to expand at the base, becoming more and more difficult to take. When the wolf thrust in one last time, he could feel the bump expand one last time, stretching his hole out to impossible widths as it spilled inside, pumping Jaskier full of cum. As he sagged forward, he felt the tug against his hole, too wide for the tight muscle to take. Holy shit, he was knotted! Like a proper bitch in heat. The idea made his dick twitch, but he’d had his fair share of gangbangs. If he came this early on, he’d be passed out from overstimulation long before it finished.

Instead he worked on catching his breath, putting his hand on his lower belly to feel the little bulge that had formed there from the cock and cum. Feeling like he’d been bred good and proper, he settled in, figuring it would take a few minutes at least before the wolf’s knot would go down and the next one could take over.

But the creature inside of him apparently had other ideas. 

Suddenly he was being tilted upright, the wolf shifting so he was perched in its lap. He opened his eyes, confused, only to be brought face-to-face (or would it be head-to-head? face-to-head?) with another giant wolf dick. 

Oh Melitele, they were planning on fucking his throat.

Geralt appeared at his side. “If you don’t want this, just say. We only agreed to your ass.”

Jaskier, touched, considered. If Geralt hadn’t told him it was his choice, he would’ve said fuck no and started yelling, but knowing it was his decision…

“No, it’s alright. As long as they back off when I start pushing I’m willing to give it a shot.”

And then the largest cock he’d ever seen was thrusting into his mouth. 

He could barely get the tip in without gagging, but he was nothing if not determined, licking all around it and relaxing his throat, trying to take even an inch more, while his hands worked the rest of its considerable girth. He was so focused on his task that he didn’t even notice the knot in his ass going down until it was being pulled out of him, and he was maneuvered onto his hands and knees so the next cock could line up and thrust in while he still worked the one in his mouth.

The slide was significantly easier this time around, the copious amounts of werewolf spend slicking the way, and soon he was getting bounced between the two, choking on the one in his mouth as it battered the delicate back of his throat while the one in his ass battered his delicate insides. 

He had no idea how long it had been when the cock in his mouth was pulled out and he was sprayed with cum, mouth hanging open to catch as much as possible. It tasted vile, but still he licked up every drop, desperate for it. Another wolf took the first’s place, and he got back to work, the cock in his hole never ceasing its constant pounding. 

After that he lost track of time. He was a ragdoll, being moved for the wolves’ pleasure with no regard for his needs. He came at one point with a high-pitched moan, but he only barely noticed, just more cum spattered across his skin, the wolves not even pausing. He got knotted over and over, filling him up more each time, making him swell like he had caught, like he was carrying their pups. If he’d had the ability to talk, too delirious from pleasure to say a word even when his mouth wasn’t full of monster dick, he’d be egging them on, telling them to fuck their pups into him, he looked so pretty full of their cum, he’d look even prettier full of their children. Jaskier had never had a breeding kink before, but now he thought that this may have awakened something in him.

When the final knot went down and pulled out, leaving him emptier than he’d ever felt before, he collapsed into Geralt’s waiting arms. He was spent, sated, and covered in cum inside and out, too exhausted to so much as lift a finger, but when he looked into his lover’s hungry eyes, he knew he wasn’t done yet.

His witcher praised him, telling him how well he took it, how beautiful he looked, how proud he was of him as he laid him out on his back and spread his thighs.

“Melitele, Jaskier,” he groaned as he got a good look at the bard’s ruined hole for the first time, loose and red and continuously leaking monster spend. “You’re so loose I bet I could shove my fist up you and you wouldn’t even notice.” He pushed his cock inside and laughed. “I can barely feel you around my cock. So loose, Jask. You’ll have to have a cock up you at all times from now on, just so your insides don’t fall out. And look at this cum belly.” he slapped at it, “Wonder if you’ll get stretch marks, like a pregnant woman.” Jaskier moaned at that, feebly trying to spread his thighs wider. “You like that? Being a breeding bitch for a bunch of monsters? Whore.” He said it lovingly, but also like he meant it.

Geralt grabbed his cock, and he tried to buck, but only managed to squirm a little. “Saw you come at least three times, but looks like your slutty cock still wants to be played with.” The witcher jacked him roughly, making sparks dance over his eyes, until he was coming, tightening down around the thick cock inside him. Geralt moaned and thrust harder, coming in only a couple more strokes, filling him with even more spend.

Geralt collapsed next to him, both panting. In a bit, they’d have to move, to find a river and clean all the cum off them, get Jaskier a drink to replace all the fluids he lost, figure out what to do about his gaping hole, but in that moment  they just lay there revelling in the best sex either of them had ever had.

Geralt began to fuck like a man possessed, chasing only his pleasure, not even making a move towards Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier didn’t mind, the Witcher’s cock was more than big enough to beat against his prostate in any position.

Geralt thrust in, over and over, growling low and nipping at Jaskier’s back and neck, more like an animal than a man. Jaskier moaned and when he could catch half a breath, praised his lover, “Fuck, Geralt… gods… so good… More… I want more…”

The words had the right effect, as Geralt slammed in and froze, cock pulsing deep inside. Jaskier moaned at the heat then again as a new feeling spread, like a warm wave all over his body. His head swam, the world tilting slightly and he felt just… so damn good. He barely noticed his own cock spurting on to the ragged old shirt he’d put down to protect the bedrolls. Geralt began to move again, and Jaskier groaned, pressing back against him. He didn’t care that he was sensitive, he wanted Geralt to come again. He wanted that rush of full body pleasure, that swirly feeling. 

 It didn’t take long for Geralt to come again, the potions always gave him even more stamina than usual. They fucked, all through the night, and Geralt finally exhausted himself just as the dawn birds began to sing.

They slept until noon, recovering and Jaskier woke to wet thighs and a sore ass. He felt good though. He rolled over, checking on Geralt. The Witcher was out of his armor, but still grimy and covered in… ick. 

Jaskier stood with a soft groan, feeling cum start to drip down his thighs. Geralt had pumped him full. He loved it. He grabbed the cooking pot and made his way to the little stream nearby fetching water to help scrub Geralt clean. Hot water worked best once the ichor dried. They weren’t far from a town and Jaskier would buy a bath there, but it helped to try to scrub the worst off first. 

Geralt stirred as he wiped him off, and sleepy golden eyes met his. Jaskier leaned down to kiss his beloved Witcher and was promptly pulled across Geralt’s lap. Geralt’s hot, hard cock pressed against Jaskier’s bare, still dripping, ass, and he suddenly, desperately wanted it inside him. 

He moved before the thought about it, sinking down on the hard shaft and pulling a moan from both of them. “Geralt… Come in me again.” Geralt smirked and let Jaskier bounce furiously on his cock, until he couldn’t stand it any longer and rolled them over, pounding into the bard furiously until he spilled again, adding to the mess. 

Jaskier sighed blissfully at the feeling, warmth in his belly, spreading through him. 

**

It took them a day to get to the town, one big enough to have a small inn and after haggling with the innkeeper, who grumpily agreed to allow them the room, they called for a bath. 

Jaskier went first, not nearly as dirty as Geralt, and scrubbed clean, inside and out. Geralt “helped” with the latter part. He toweled off with threadbare towels and flopped face down onto the bed. He was more than ready for a nap. 

Geralt was nearly done with his own scrubbing when Jaskier started to fidget. It felt like ants under his skin and he felt so COLD. It was summer, he couldn’t be cold. His hole ached, clenching down around nothing and he felt empty inside...so empty. It was all he could focus on. A whine built in his throat and he clamped down on it, even as his legs spread of their own accord. He reached a hand back, pressing two fingers to his aching, empty hole to try to soothe the desperate need, but it didn’t help, only made it worse.

The scent of distress had Geralt turning in the bath, seeing Jaskier with two, no… three fingers in his ass, even as Geralt heard him start to whimper. “Jaskier?”

“Geralt, it hurts! I’m...its not enough… I’m empty and it hurts.” Jaskier sobbed, tears filling his eyes. The empty feeling was spreading, moving from his hole towards his chest. “Geralt!”

Geralt clambered from the bath, heedless of the water dripping everywhere and moved to the bard’s side. Distress and need, tinged with desperation rolled off the man on the bed, who spread his legs wider, displaying his reddened and stretched hole.

“Geralt, get in me, please.” Jaskier pulled his hand out of his ass, leaving the hole gaping slightly, and reached for Geralt’s half-hard cock. His cock rose in response to the bard’s touch, just like it always had, and the need and desperation smell overwhelmed the distress. 

Geralt grabbed the oil from the bedside table, the first thing they unpacked at any inn, and quickly slicked himself up, sliding two fingers into Jaskier to get him ready. Jaskier pushed back insistently and Geralt took the wordless plea to heart. 

He corked and tossed the bottle back to the table and pulled Jaskier to his knees, pressing in. There was no resistance and he had to actively hold Jaskier to keep him from impaling himself. The distress scent vanished, as did the desperation, leaving only need and desire. The shifting scents were met with Jaskier reaching back, swatting at Geralt’s hip. “Move! Fuck me, Geralt, fill me up.”

Geralt did so, fucking the bard thoroughly until he came. The change was immediate.

Jaskier relaxed all over, a blissed expression sweeping across his face. Jaskier didn’t come from being fucked alone, but moaned happily as Geralt stripped the hard cock until the bard’s come spilled over his fingers.

Geralt pulled out, and returned with a wet cloth, cleaning the leaking come from Jaskier’s hole before curling up with him to nap until dinner. He tossed the damp rag aside on the table.

**

Geralt woke to Jaskier riding his cock, the scent of desperation all over him again. “Come… Geralt, want your come… your cock… please…” Geralt came quickly, practically before he was fully awake, Jaskier clearly having been at it for a while. 

Instantly the bard relaxed, like a puppet with his strings cut and Geralt frowned, even as he cuddled the bard close, still lodged on his cock. His mind was whirring and he didn’t sleep much that night. 

They left town the following morning, and it was only a few hours down the trail before Jaskier was shaking and sweating again, begging for cock and come. After the third stop the fuck the bard, not truly a hardship, but time-consuming, Geralt reached for a cloth to clean him and paused. Every time the bard was cleaned, he got twitchy within a few hours, begging to be filled up again. 

Instead of cleaning the bard up, Geralt took a bit of cloth and wedged it between Jaskier’s cheeks keeping the come that leaked out contained, at least partially. 

It works, for the most part, and while Geralt loathes doubling up on Roach, it’s faster, and he thanks the gods they’re not far from a large town with a rather peculiar witch who made all sorts of useful items. 

They arrive in two days, Jaskier needing to be fucked twice a day as they traveled. Geralt had tested his theory, cleaning Jaskier up well inside and leaving him on Roach. It had taken four hours before the shaking and shivering had started, and within half an hour after that, the begging. Geralt let it go on for another half hour but stopped when the bard started crying, clenching his stomach and pain suffused his scent. The smell of pain eased the instant Geralt entered the bard, and vanished completely when Geralt came, coating the inner walls of his lover. 

Geralt led Roach around the village to the witch’s hut and knocked on the ramshackle door. A middle-aged woman answered the door with a shout that cut off mid-sentence. “What ya–Geralt!” The woman flickered and a much younger woman stood in her place. “It’s been a while, come in! Come in! Who’s this?” She waved them in, leading them past a closed door into a much nicer, more spacious room. One that wasn’t visible from outside the small shack. He knew most of the building wasn’t.

“Ingred, this is Jaskier. Jaskier, Ingred. We have a bit of a problem.” He briefly described the problem, Jaskier’s sudden near dependence on Geralt’s come and his reaction when deprived of it. Jaskier blushed throughout the explanation and Geralt was very glad he’d discussed it on the way.

“Hmm… Let me look him over.” She moved to the bard, hands glowing, and ran them from head to toe. “Ah… This is interesting. He’s addicted, actually fully addicted to your come, and likely your cock as well. You said the pain eases as soon as you enter him?” Geralt nodded. “Well, I can’t remove the addiction, whatever caused it is firmly in his system.”

She looked at Jaskier. “We could send you through a detox, but I’m not sure if that would even work. I’ve never seen this before. It could work, it could not, or it could kill you.” 

“Keeping the come in seems to help,” Jaskier said, shifting slightly. “But cloth sucks.”

“It does…” She hummed to herself. “Come with me.” She led them to another door, this one painted red, and inside was one of the largest collections of sex tools Jaskier had ever seen. They followed Ingred through the room to a small table filled with a variety of oddly shaped objects. 

“These are plugs, they can keep Geralt’s come inside you, all day. I can spell them to be comfortable, and flexible, so you can move as you would normally.” Jaskier blushed and Geralt wrapped an arm around him. She continued. “You’d need a… hmm… dose… every day. At least one. No more pain though.”

Jaskier blushed more, ducking his head and looking away.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, pressing his forehead to his lover’s. “I don’t want you hurting. Please…” He was cut off when Jaskier looked at him, eyes blown wide, and boldly took the Witcher’s hand, pressing it to his cock, which was fully hard. “I am definitely not opposed. I suppose this means I winter with you in Kaer Morhen now?” “Or I stay in Oxenfurt.”  

“Ugh, no. Kaer Morhen. Valdo drives me crazy in the winters and I can’t get away from the ass.” He looked at Ingred. “So… how do we fit them?”

**

Hours later, they left the shack, Ingred waving goodbye to them. A small sack of gold had been handed over, but Ingred took part of her payment in watching Jaskier learn to take the slim plugs, along with Geralt fucking load after load into him. They’d offered to bed her, but she’d politely refused, telling them her memories would work quite well for a long time. She told them to come back next time they were in the area and she’d make a few custom pieces. 

Jaskier walked along, pain-free and feeling light as a feather. His belly was just slightly rounded from all the come inside him and the plug kept it well settled. It was comfortable, flexible, and he could wear it all day, or night, without hurting himself. 

That night, when they camped, Jaskier stripped down and settled over Geralt’s bare lap, right over his cock. “You know the other spell Ingred put on this?” Jaskier reached behind him and pulled the plug out then slid himself onto Geralt’s cock. “It lubes me up too.”

When Jaskier had begged to be let along on Geralt’s latest hunt, he didn’t understand Geralt’s smirk, at the time. He was too busy rejoicing over finally being allowed close enough to actually see the action, instead of being relegated to the sidelines, eventually having to resort to Geralt’s one-word answers about the fight afterwards.

Now, though, suspended ten feet in the air, his doublet and trousers lying in a heap on the forest floor, he understood why Geralt had let him so close, and why he looked so damn smug now.

“Geralt, don’t just stand there! Do something!” he whined, wriggling in the tentacles’ unyielding-yet-gentle grip. Every movement only made them squeeze tighter where they were locked around his wrists and ankles, and he tried not to think about how that thought made him go all squirmy inside.

“It’s harmless, Jaskier. It just needs to breed, and then it’ll let you go.”

“Breed? Geralt!” He would’ve kept shouting, except at that moment, a tentacle wormed its way into his mouth, effectively gagging him. His lips closed around the foreign intrusion, sucking instinctively, and the tentacle pulsed in pleasure. He shivered at the sensation.

“Just relax, Jaskier. It’ll be over before you know it.”

Despite everything, Geralt’s steady, matter-of-fact words did have a calming effect on him. The tentacle monster—Jaskier still wasn’t sure what it was, but it certainly had plenty of appendages—stroked him lightly, encouraging him to relax further. It felt kind of nice, actually; if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it to be the touch of a lover, drifting softly across his skin, lower and lower until it reached—

He squeaked as he felt a tentacle prodding at his hole, slick yet insistent. He tried to move away, but could get absolutely no leverage while in the tentacle monster’s embrace. The tip edged inside, just barely, the way eased by whatever slick substance covered the tentacles. Jaskier’s toes curled at the sensation.

His prick, already at half mast, leaked drops of precome onto the forest floor. He hated that he was enjoying this, but it just felt so good, the tentacle at his mouth slowly pumping in and out as the one at his ass did the same, working its way in inch by inch.

“Good, Jaskier. Fuck, you look so good like this, so open and needy,” a voice below him growled, and Jaskier started at the reminder that Geralt was there, watching the entire scene play out. He whimpered, more precome leaking from his cock as the tentacle in his ass brushed over his prostate.

Then, just as he was nearing the edge, the tentacle retreated, leaving him empty and wanting. He whined around the tentacle in his mouth, desperate for something—to come, to be filled up, he didn’t know, he just knew he needed it now.

Geralt chuckled, sounding far too satisfied. But Jaskier stopped caring once the tentacle returned, though this time it was thicker, less tapered. It pushed its way inside, Jaskier moaning as he was once more filled up. It was almost too much, stretching him almost to his limit, leaving him right on the edge. He just needed a bit more, another brush against his prostate, or a hand on his cock, anything.

And then the tentacle was expanding, stretching his hole farther than he even knew it could go, and he screamed around the tentacle in his mouth—though whether it was from pleasure or pain, he didn’t know. Everything was all mixed up in his head, and he just—needed to—

The tentacle pulsed, growing larger again, and Jaskier screamed as he came untouched, spine arching as much as it could and toes curling. He came, and came, and yet the tentacle monster didn’t stop, and with horror Jaskier realized it didn’t plan to. He tried to spit the tentacle out, tried to beg Geralt for help, but couldn’t, could only writhe as the tentacle spread him wider.

And then it was pulsing in his ass, and Jaskier felt something moving along it, something large and round that was being deposited inside him. An egg.

It traveled along the length of the tentacle, shoving past his rim and settling around his prostate, and Jaskier jerked at the sensation, overstimulated. He thought that was it, that it was over, but then he realized that it was happening again, another egg being shoved inside of him, knocking against the first, and gods, he was so full.

He was crying, he realized, tears streaking down his face at the barrage of sensations. It was too much, and he was either going to come again or die from it all. As a third egg settled inside of him, he was sure it would be the latter, until another tentacle wrapped itself around his cock and stroked, warm and wet, and he screamed again, voice cracking, as he came for the second time.

He was left panting and limp in the tentacle monster’s grip as he came down from his high, and then it was lowering him to the ground, and Geralt was there, catching him lest he collapse face-first on the ground. Every single muscle in his body hurt, overtaxed, and he was uncomfortably full.

“That’s it. You did good, Jaskier. Just one more thing left,” Geralt soothed, easing him down to lie back on the ground. He waited as Jaskier caught his breath, running a gloved hand along his stomach, and Jaskier realized with a jolt that he was round with the eggs, an obscene bulge in his stomach like he was pregnant. He moaned.

“It’s alright, Jaskier, just relax for me and push,” Geralt coached him, one hand remaining on his stomach while the other searched between his legs for his gaping asshole.

“Push, Jaskier,” Geralt instructed, and Jaskier, face burning, did his best. The eggs shifted inside of him, and he shuddered at the sensation, ass clenching around where Geralt’s fingers were holding him open. “Keep going.”

Jaskier wanted to die of embarrassment, the way Geralt simultaneously looked so unperturbed and clinical about the entire affair warring with the hunger Jaskier could see in his eyes. He blushed even hotter, pushing harder with a small moan, and Geralt helped him out by pressing down on his stomach.

One egg popped out, followed by a rush of slick that had Jaskier covering his face with shaking hands.

“No need to be embarrassed, Jaskier. You’re doing so good,” Geralt praised, and fuck if that didn’t make his dick give a little interested twitch. Because nothing escaped his witcher, Geralt clearly noticed, and raised an eyebrow. “You like that? Like me telling you that you make such a good breeding bitch?”

Jaskier's breath hitched, his dick rising valiantly despite his exhaustion.

“Come on, Jaskier. Only two more,” Geralt coaxed, running his hand along Jaskier stomach, pressing gently against the bulge. Jaskier moaned as they shifted again, coming to rest directly against his prostate. “Push,” Geralt instructed, and Jaskier did, and then another egg was sliding out of him, his rim burning with sensation.

His cock was fully hard now, and Geralt took it in his gloved hand, the leather cool against his overheated flesh. He started to stroke, gently at first, and the picking up speed, and Jaskier writhed, caught between bucking up into it and pulling away from the onslaught.

“This will make the last one easier. Just one more,” Geralt said, pushing down on Jaskier stomach again, driving the last egg out, and with a small cry Jaskier pushed it out and came simultaneously, completely dry.

He wilted back against the ground, completely spent, covered in slime and come and mud and not even caring.

He lay there as Geralt fiddled around with the eggs—when he gathered the strength to lift his head, he saw that Geralt was carefully wrapping them and placing them inside his pack. “They’ll sell well,” Geralt explained, when he saw Jaskier watching him. “Especially now that they’ve been lain inside a willing host.”

Jaskier dropped his head back down on the ground with a thud. “Don’t say things like that,” he rasped.

“Why? Does it make you want to get hard again? Think you could come a fourth time?” Geralt asked, stalking over and cruelly pawing at Jaskier's spent prick. Jaskier could do nothing more than whine, not even having the strength to flinch away. Geralt chuckled. “An experiment for another day, maybe.”

Jaskier gulped, already dreading—or was it anticipating?—that day. For now, though, he was content to flop about as Geralt gathered his errant limbs up, lifting him like one might an overtired child. Jaskier let his head loll back against Geralt’s broad chest, already drifting off to sleep.

“Sleep, Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled. “You did well.”