#stb geraskier

Geralt laid his trap in advance—a trail of treats leading from the village to just outside his warren, sure to pique the curiosity of the young bard, if not the appetite. And then, hiding in the bushes, belly heavy with eggs, he waited for his soon-to-be-victim to appear.

It didn’t take long. Jaskier—as Geralt had learned his name was—had taken to walking the forest paths in the evenings, sighing over the beauty of the forest or the beauty of a lover or any other thing that caught his poet’s attention. And sure enough, when he saw the first treat Geralt had laid out, he picked it up, and the next, and the next, until he found himself in front of Geralt’s warren.

“That’s odd. Who would--?”

He was cut off as Geralt leapt, bursting from the bushes to snag Jaskier around the waist. The bard yelped, too surprised to even fight back—in a short moment Geralt had navigated the twisting hallways of his warren (an impossible maze to anyone but him) and deposited Jaskier solidly on the pile of furs that made up his nest.

Jaskier stammered for a moment, lost for words as his brain processed the quick turn of events, until he finally gathered his wits. “Now see here!” he started, and then he finally took in the creature before him.

Geralt stood, bare as Mother Nature had birthed him, stomach gravid with new life. His rabbit ears swiveled under Jaskier’s inspection, his nose twitching as he waited for Jaskier to speak.

“What—who are you?”

“Geralt.”

Jaskier paled at the name—he had only just realized he was in the presence of a god, apparently. “What—what will you do with me?” he whispered, fingering nervously at the hem of his shirt. Geralt kneeled down next to him, pulling away his hands and pinning them to his side, just as he pinned him with a stare.

“You’ll bring new life to the forest.”

Jaskier’s eyes flickered downwards and back up again just as quickly. “I think there’s been a mistake, I can’t—I’m not a woman,” he said bluntly, trying to tug his hands out of Geralt’s grasp. Geralt held firm.

“You’ll bear my eggs just fine.” Saying that, he released Jaskier’s wrists so that he could begin to divest the bard of his clothing, but he wasn’t expecting the sudden resistance he was met with.

“What—no,” Jaskier protested, batting his hands away and drawing his knees up to his chest. Geralt admired how it rounded his arse—which he would soon be sinking into. “I—I mean, please, o God of Spring, I urge you to reconsider,” he begged.

“I’ve considered it enough,” Geralt answered, “and decided. You’re perfect for me. Young, full of life and song. You’ll make a wonderful mate.” Then, hoping to calm the bard’s racing heart, he leaned forward and kissed him, gentle lips trying to put him at ease.

It didn’t work—Jaskier went even stiffer, turning his face away and squeezing his eyes shut. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, let me go. Don’t do this.”

Geralt grew angry. It was an honor to be chosen by a god—who did this young upstart think he was, turning down such a generous offer? But he knew of a way to ensure Jaskier’s compliance. “What do you think happens if the God of Fertility is unable to complete his ritual?” he bit out.

Jaskier didn’t answer.

“I’ll tell you. The forest will stagnate, devoid of new life, and your village will starve,” Geralt said bluntly. “If that’s what you want…”

Jaskier bit his lip, reddening it. “No,” he finally sniffed, all the fight fleeing him at once.

“Then let me breed you,” Geralt rumbled, and leaned in for another kiss, testing Jaskier’s resistance. He was met with none, although he wasn’t met with enthusiasm either. That was fine—Geralt didn’t need a willing host.

He pushed Jaskier backwards until he was lying on his back, and made quick work of his clothes. Jaskier stared resolutely at the ceiling the entire time, face creased in distress, but he didn’t struggle. Soon he too was bare, and Geralt wasted no time in hiking up his legs, exposing his tight hole.

“Wait,” Jaskier interrupted, a new fear in his eyes. “Aren’t you going to—please don’t fuck me dry.”

Geralt growled. He didn’t want to waste any more time—the eggs were growing heavier by the minute, his body anticipating his coming laying. But he supposed lubricant would make it more pleasurable at least, and the boy wouldn’t run the risk of tearing.

He dropped Jaskier’s legs and went to fetch a vial of oil, confident inn the knowledge that Jaskier wouldn’t—and couldn’t—flee. He returned shortly, and Jaskier was still where he’d left him, shivering a bit in the cool springtime air.

Geralt would soon warm him up. He poured out some oil and hiked Jaskier’s legs up again, oiled fingers coming to prod at his hole. He was tight, but under Geralt’s constant pressure, soon yielded to the press of two fingers stretching him wide. And Geralt knew he would only stretch further as the night went on.

Jaskier’s lips parted at the first intrusion, brow creasing in not-quite-pain. “Relax,” Geralt murmured. “It’ll feel good, if you let it.”

Geralt worked him with two fingers until he was panting, subtly shifting his hips in search of more. Geralt obliged, slipping in another finger, rewarded with a moan as Jaskier threw his head back. Geralt reached for his cock, intending to bring him to orgasm so that he would relax further, but was surprised when Jaskier gripped his wrist.

“What are you doing?” he growled, and Jaskier released his wrist instantly, eyes widening.

“Please don’t—just get this over with?” he pleaded.

“You need to relax, or else my eggs won’t fit.” Jaskier turned watery eyes to him, but Geralt couldn’t be budged. “I know what you need. Just relax and let me.”

Jaskier shut his eyes, but made no move to further hinder Geralt as he once again reached to stroke Jaskier’s cock to full hardness. It only took a few strokes before he was moaning louder, bucking up into Geralt’s fist, driving himself back down on Geralt’s fingers.

Geralt twisted his wrist just as he prodded at that sensitive spot inside of Jaskier, and Jaskier spilled with a cry. Geralt pumped him through it, only stopping when Jaskier began to shudder from overstimulation and twist away. Geralt’s fingers remained deep inside Jaskier’s hole, keeping him stretched and ready for his cock—which was proudly standing at attention, eager to sink into that warm slickness.

Jaskier’s eyes rolled back in his head as Geralt breached him for the first time, Geralt himself only barely holding back from sinking all the way in. Fuck, Geralt hadn’t felt something this good in a long time. Even parted around Geralt’s thick cock, and even after orgasm, he was still so tight, hot and contracting sinfully around him.

Geralt sank in slowly, until he was buried to the hilt, Jaskier gurgling underneath him. Geralt could oh-so-faintly see the outline of his cock in the bard’s abdomen, piercing him all the way up past his navel. Geralt pulled out and sank back in again just to watch it bulge, feel the way Jaskier clenched.

“Fuck, gonna breed you so good,” Geralt grunted, his composure leaving him as he began to thrust faster. Jaskier moaned, writhing a little beneath him, his hot, sucking hole fluttering as if trying to draw Geralt deeper. Geralt’s pleasure grew higher and higher, until, with a grunt, he emptied himself into Jaskier, hot cum splashing deep, filling his stomach in preparation for the eggs that were coming.

They weren’t very big, but there were many of them, all clamoring to get out, to be laid inside a warm host. Geralt gripped tighter around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him further down onto his cock as the first few eggs spilled out of him. One, two, ten, bump after bump traveling the length of his cock and being deposited inside Jaskier.

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasped, muscles twitching. “Feels so weird—so much—”

“There’s plenty more to come,” Geralt replied, groaning as another batch made its way out of him. Jaskier made a guttural noise and tried to pull away instinctively, his body screaming at him too much too much too much.

Geralt yanked him ruthlessly back down, and Jaskier screamed, voice cracking as he sobbed. “Please, enough,” he wheezed, and Geralt knew he had to be struggling for air, his lungs unable to fully inflate with how full his stomach was becoming.

He didn’t listen, pinning Jaskier in place despite how he struggled, animal instincts trying to flee, until he gave up all at once, sobbing beginning anew. His lithe body quaked underneath Geralt, each jolt sending a shock of pleasure to his cock, still trapped in that wet heat.

The last egg, one of perhaps a hundred, popped into Jaskier. He lay there shuddering, covered in sweat and his own come, gasping for breath. His eyes were closed, but they flew open as soon as Geralt took his cock in hand again, stroking just to feel how wonderfully tight he clenched around Geralt with every touch.

“Nonono stop,” Jaskier gasped, pushing ineffectually at Geralt’s chest. “Stop, it’s too much—”

Geralt didn’t stop—Jaskier felt too good around him. He grunted, speeding his hand and thrusting into Jaskier, chasing a second orgasm as he forced Jaskier towards his second.

Jaskier came with a cry, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks as he spasmed around Geralt, and Geralt followed him, spurting his seed into Jaskier once more. His body couldn’t take it, full as he was, and it spilled out around Geralt’s cock, leaking out onto Jaskier’s thighs and onto the furs.

Geralt pulled out, watching hungrily as more come leaked out, though his eggs stayed firmly inside, where they would remain until the time came to birth them.

“You’ll carry my eggs so well,” Geralt praised, picking Jaskier up—careful not to compress his overfull belly—and laying him down on a cleaner pile of furs.

Jaskier didn’t reply, too wrung out to even muster a word. His eyes slipped closed, his body falling into a much-needed rest, so that he didn’t hear Geralt’s next words.

“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.”

Jaskier gulped as Geralt stalked closer, traitorous cock stirring in his pants. Now was not the time—especially when he had been on his way to the privy before Geralt had stalked into the room.

“Geralt,” he greeted nervously. “How, er, how did it go?”

Geralt only stared at him with those depthless black eyes, and then walked closer, growling softly under his breath. Jaskier tried not to flinch as Geralt leaned in close, sniffing at his neck, gloved hands coming to clutch at his doublet.

And then the bastard bit him, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to bruise, for sure. Jaskier gasped, ignoring the way his cock hardened even further under the attention.

His head was spinning with sensation, the room suddenly too hot, as Geralt made his way down Jaskier’s neck, then dropped to his knees to nose at Jaskier’s clothed cock.

His cock, which, despite being rock hard and weeping precum, was still reminding him of another pressing need that Geralt had interrupted. “Geralt,” Jaskier gasped, pushing him away. Geralt let him, albeit reluctantly. “Not that I don’t love this—but—is this really the time?”

Geralt looked at him blankly, and with a hint of frustration. Oh, gods. Was something wrong? It was like Jaskier had been suddenly doused with a bucket of cold water. “Geralt,” he said firmly. “Did something happen on the hunt?”

Geralt growled, baring his teeth, and then, after a moment of silent staring between them, forced words out. “Succubus. Has—venom. Makes it—I have to—fuck.”

Jaskier pondered that for a moment. “Soooo… like an aphrodisiac?” he asked, and was rewarded with Geralt nodding furiously and diving for Jaskier’s clothes again. Jaskier let him, because as long as Geralt knew marginally what was going on, he was alright with it. Especially when his need was this potent.

Except— “Geralt,” Jaskier gasped, as his doublet was rapidly stripped off, followed closely by his chemise. “Wait.”

Geralt growled again, louder, but sat back on his heels.

“Just—give me a moment to go to the privy, and then I’m all yours—”

“No,” Geralt growled, and tackled Jaskier—thankfully onto the bed behind him, and he hit the mattress with a soft oof.

“Wh—What do you mean, no, get off, you brute—” Jaskier said, squirming underneath Geralt’s bulk, but he was hopelessly pinned. He didn’t think about how that thought made his stomach flip.

Geralt sucked another bite mark onto his neck. “Hold it.”

And fuck, but that was hot. “But—what if I can’t hold it?” he protested weakly.

“You will,” Geralt promised, voice deep and gravelly. Jaskier’s cock twitched.

Geralt waited for all of half a second for him to protest again, and when none was forthcoming, he returned to his mission to unclothe Jaskier as quickly as humanly possible. Or witcher-ly possible.

His trousers and pants soon joined his other clothes on the floor, and Jaskier managed to at least get Geralt out of his armor, which took care of most of the gore. He was relatively clean underneath, enough that Jaskier deemed it acceptable for Geralt to immediately press himself full-bodied against Jaskier, skin radiating heat.

And then Geralt was shifting downwards, mouth trailing along Jaskier’s body, mouthing at his neck, his chest, his waist, and then enveloping his sock in his hot, wet mouth. Jaskier shouted, his need suddenly that much greater.

He stuffed a fist into his mouth, biting down on his knuckles, as Geralt sucked his cock. All too soon, Jaskier felt his need rising—but whether it was to come or to piss, he didn’t know. He pushed weakly at Geralt’s forehead, begging silently for him to stop so that he could collect himself. Geralt pulled off with a wet pop, hungry eyes begging for more.

“I can’t,” Jaskier reprimanded him, “not unless you want this to be over quickly.”

Geralt grunted—disappointment, or acknowledgment?—and left his cock be, coming back up to capture Jaskier’s lips in a deep kiss.

It calmed Jaskier down enough that he didn’t feel right on the edge anymore. Geralt, meanwhile, was still as wound up as ever, humping the mattress between Jaskier’s legs, letting out small whines.

“Alright,” Jaskier gasped out, breaking the kiss. “Fuck me.”

Geralt growled, diving down, slinging Jaskier’s legs over his shoulders, bending him nearly in half. It put that much more pressure on his poor bladder, and he whined, though his cock was twitching in anticipation.

Geralt wasted no time in coating his fingers in slick, though he was gentle when he breached the tight ring of muscle. His hole was even tighter for how tense he was trying to hold on. Geralt, impatient, sank another finger inside, and Jaskier groaned at the stretch. He was used to it, with how often Geralt prepared him, but it was so much every single time.

Geralt pushed deeper, crooking his fingers just right—fuck, Jaskier saw stars as his fingers brushed against his prostate. He moaned like a whore, relaxing his muscles the tiniest bit—only for a dribble of piss to come streaming out of his cock. Mortified, face burning red, Jaskier’s hand shot down to wrap around his cock, clenching around the flow that desperately wanted to escape.

“I said hold it,” Geralt growled, nostrils flaring, pulling his fingers out of Jaskier to instead join his where they were wrapped around his cock. “Don’t want to ruin the bed, do you?”

Jaskier sobbed, once, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I can hold it,” he promised. “Please, I promise, fuck me!”

Geralt stroked his cock, just the once, and then reached down to line his cock up with Jaskier’s hole. And then he was pushing in, in, in, filling Jaskier up so completely, so fully, that he thought he might burst.

Jaskier threw his head back, eyes rolling back in his head, clutching desperately at his cock. Fuck, it felt like Geralt’s cock was nudging right up against his bladder, each powerful thrust sending jolts of pain and pleasure through him.

Geralt moaned, sinking his teeth into Jaskier’s neck once more, and picked up the pace. Jaskier was crying now, letting out little whining cries with each thrust, on the verge of letting go. Whether that was his orgasm or his bladder, he didn’t know.

“Mm—mm—mm—fuck,” Jaskier sobbed, as Geralt’s massive cock brushed against his prostate relentlessly, stretching his hole with every thrust. “Gonna—come—”

“Then come,” Geralt growled, thrusting faster. With a deep, guttural cry, he came, hot seed splashing inside of Jaskier, filling him up. Jaskier cried out and came too, ropes of come spilling over his chest, seemingly endless in their intensity.

Amidst the ecstasy, he felt Geralt pull out, followed by a rush of come leaking out of his hole. He lay there for a second, panting, before a different need made itself known.

“Fuck,” he moaned, struggling to his feet, hand clenched desperately around his cock, legs crossed.

He wasn’t going to make it all the way to the privy. He groaned, struggling not to let go right there, in the middle of the floor, where Geralt could see.

“Jaskier,” Geralt called from where he was lying on the bed. His eyes had returned to their normal color, the venom out of his system, though he was now wearing a devilish smile. “Let go.”

And fuck, that was all it took. He whimpered as hot piss burst forth, running down his legs, puddling humiliatingly beneath him. All he could do was stand there, legs wobbling, hand clenched uselessly around his streaming cock.

The relief he felt was undeniable, though, whatever the cost was. It felt like ages before the flow finally tapered off, leaving him wet and embarrassed, but lightheaded with his release.

“Fuck,” he whispered, looking down at his mess, but then Geralt was there, cupping his face in his hands.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he rumbled, sweeping Jaskier off of his unsteady legs, and placing him in the tub full of water. It had long since gone cold, but a quick Igni took care of that, and Jaskier basked as Geralt took care to wash him clean of the urine and the seed that coated his body.

By the time Geralt was finished, Jaskier was nearly asleep. Geralt walked him through drying off and climbing into bed, though Jaskier grumbled, but it was all worth it when Geralt slid into bed behind him, wrapping a large arm around him and pulling him back against his broad chest.

“Thank you,” Geralt murmured in his ear. “It wasn’t too much, was it?”

Jaskier yawned and shook his head. “No, ‘s good.”

He could hear the smile in Geralt’s voice as he responded. “Good. Sleep, Jaskier.”