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witcherslittledove · 2 years

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In Flagrante Delicto

CW: underage (17), caught masturbating, shame, anal fingering/sex, creampie

Read on AO3

Part 1 of 2, 2.9k

************

Jaskier likes being a babysitter. He has been doing it for a while now, officially since he turned fifteen and got the go ahead from his parents to look for work outside of relatives' kids. It didn't take long at all until he had a couple of neighborhood families that were only too happy to hire him.

One of his favourites is Ciri Rivia. She's smart and easy-going, and most importantly has a father who is drop dead gorgeous.

Mr Rivia looks like he has been plucked from Jaskier's wet dreams: tall, absolutely ripped, with gorgeous hair and intense eyes… Jaskier goes a little weak in the knees every time he goes over to look after Ciri and Mr Rivia opens the door for him, that charming little half-smile on his lips.

********

Now, he has over two years of babysitting experience under his belt, and he's been looking after Ciri almost as long. They're a good team, he thinks. There's only one problem: Jaskier is, in the end, a horny teenager, and once Ciri is in bed, he's often bored out of his skull. There's only so much Netflix one can watch after all.

He sits on the couch, his gaze mindlessly wandering until it catches on a photo of Mr Rivia with two other men Jaskier doesn't know. They're all broad and handsome, if in very different ways from Mr Rivia, but there's an easy camaraderie between them, evident even in this photo, that makes him think they're either related or at least very good friends.

In any case, Jaskier finds himself staring at the picture, at Mr Rivia, and as he sits there, surrounded by the man's scent and staring into those fascinating eyes, his hand moves between his legs entirely without his permission.

After a few minutes of absently rubbing himself through his jeans, he can't take it any more. He gets up and climbs the stairs, undeterred even as guilt grabs him by the back of the neck. His dick doesn't care, and leads him to Mr Rivia's bedroom door.

Last chance to turn back, he thinks.

He doesn't.

Mr Rivia's room is sparse, the sheets tucked in with military precision. There's a couple of photos on a dresser - of Ciri, more of the two men from the photo downstairs, together with an elderly man with a stern expression, and of Mr Rivia, actually smiling, with a horse - but no weird little knickknacks that, in Jaskier's experience, tend to accumulate in bedrooms.

He knows he absolutely shouldn't, but he pulls open a couple of drawers, lets his fingers glide over the fabric of Mr Rivia's clothes. Black, black and a cheeky grey here and there. Jaskier rolls his eyes. At least there's a theme.

Then he pulls open the bottom drawer and flushes hotly. It's filled with sex toys.

And well, Jaskier's only human, he's horny and in Mr Rivia's room, surrounded by his scent, and he breaks after very little internal debate.

He grabs one of the smaller dildos (he's not a virgin, ok, but he's a novice) and hesitates only a second before he flops down on the bed, already hard in his pants. He pushes his jeans down to his ankles and it doesn't take long at all until he has a fist shoved between his teeth and is furiously working the dildo into his ass. Fuck, it has no right being this good, not when it's just a piece of plastic, when he's going far too fast, afraid of being caught, but then again it's probably the thrill of possible discovery that makes it this good.

He has his face pushed into Mr Rivia's pillow and is trying to keep his noises down so he doesn't wake up Ciri, but it's a lot, his lungs filled with the man's scent, and he's so close and he can't-

"What the hell?"

Jaskier freezes, dildo shoved into him to the base, and peeks over his shoulder. Mr Rivia stands in the doorway, staring at him, and Jaskier wants to die.

"Sir, I can explain-"

"Can you?"

Jaskier trembles under that intense gaze, hole twitching around the dildo and dick leaking against the sheets. What is he supposed to say? "I just-"

Mr Rivia hasn't moved, he just stands there, watching him. Then he says, "I think you should leave, Jaskier. I'll call you a taxi." And finally, he turns away, closing the door behind him.

Jaskier is mortified, but he's still hard and not known for his self-control. It only takes a couple of quick tugs on his dick and even less thrusts of the dildo for him to come all over his stomach as he bites down on Mr Rivia's pillow. His orgasm leaves him panting, his legs turned to water, and he never wants to move again, but he has to. He carefully pulls the dildo from his ass and crawls off the bed, then shuffles to the attached bathroom to clean the toy and himself up, shame-faced.

He doesn't want to face Mr Rivia after what he's done, he knows it was wrong, but he has to apologise at least. Mr Rivia is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, and he looks lost in thought. Jaskier shuffles his feet, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

"Sir, I'm so sorry, I don't- I know I should never-"

"Let's just forget this happened," Mr Rivia says. His jaw is tight, and he's clearly uncomfortable. "Your money's on the counter. Taxi should be here in a minute." And then he leaves Jaskier standing there as he disappears upstairs.

********

A week later, Jaskier's phone pings with a text, and his heart nearly jumps out of his chest when he sees it's from Mr Rivia. He almost drops the phone trying to unlock it, and he reads the text wondering if this is a joke.

Need a babysitter for Saturday. 7-10. You available?

Jaskier considers saying no. He should say no, probably. Instead he writes back that, sure, he's free.

********

He's ridiculously nervous when he arrives at the house. Mr Rivia said they'd just forget about it, and that he asked him to babysit again must mean something, right? That he's forgiven?

Still, his heart is racing and his palms are sweaty when he rings the bell, and when Mr Rivia opens the door, Jaskier thinks he's going to faint.

"Glad you had time, sorry that it's a bit short notice," Mr Rivia says once Jaskier is standing awkwardly in the living room. Ciri went back to colouring after she greeted him and isn't paying them any mind, so Jaskier thinks he should take the opportunity.

"It's no problem, I always like spending time with her." He takes a deep breath as he watches Mr Rivia shrug on a jacket. "Listen, I- I feel awful about what happened, I really don't know what possessed me to do that, I-"

"Jaskier," and fuck, his knees wobble the way they do every time Mr Rivia says his name, "it's fine. Really. Just..." The man sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "I'll be back around ten. Dinner's in the fridge." He calls out a goodbye to Ciri and then, just as he's pulling the door closed, says, "Don't do anything stupid."

Jaskier stands in the hallway a moment longer, feeling like an idiot, until Ciri yells for him to come look at her picture.

*********

Ciri gets to stay up until nine on the weekend, and so they watch Toy Story until she's falling asleep on the couch. Jaskier carries her to her room and tucks her in, and then he sits down on the couch again, almost scared to move. In an attempt to distract himself, he pulls out his phone, jumping between apps for a while before he opens his browser.

He flicks through his tabs for a while and ends up reading. Reading is good, right? Unfortunately he forgot all about the content of the story he's reading, and soon he's squirming, more than half hard. He reaches down to squeeze himself through his jeans to alleviate the pressure, and that's when the key turns in the lock of the front door.

Panicking, Jaskier pulls a throw pillow over his lap and tries to look inconspicuous. Mr Rivia smiles faintly as he walks into the living room, and Jaskier tries to ignore how awkward his own smile feels. "You're early," he says, and immediately cringes.

Mr Rivia shrugs off his jacket and hangs it over the back of a chair. "Yeah, took less time than I thought."

Jaskier has a lot of theories about what Mr Rivia gets up to when he's gone in the evenings. Usually those theories oscillate between "hitman" and "gigolo". "Ciri's been asleep for a while. I'll just... call a taxi and be out of your hair."

Mr Rivia is leaning against the back of the couch, one hand shoved into his back pocket. "Hm." He shifts, and Jaskier swallows thickly and wills his erection down. "Listen, I... I know I said we should just... forget about what happened, but..."

Fuck. He is so fired, forever.

"You can't do shit like that, Jaskier. For one, you can't go through people's stuff. You wouldn't want me digging through your drawers, would you?"

Jaskier shakes his head, rendered speechless.

Mr Rivia hums. "And second, it's... It's dangerous. People could... try and take advantage of you if they saw you like that."

The man's eyes are very dark, and Jaskier's dick throbs in his jeans. "H-how do you mean, sir?"

Mr Rivia watches him a moment longer before he walks around the couch to sit next to Jaskier. He stiffens but doesn't dare move, too aware of his still very prominent erection hidden under the pillow. Mr Rivia is utterly silent as he watches him, and Jaskier's heart thumps against his ribs.

Then Mr Rivia murmurs, "You know what I mean, Jaskier," and his hand moves under the pillow in Jaskier's lap.

He stares, uncomprehending, until Mr Rivia's fingers glide over his cock, a featherlight touch that has him breaking out in goosebumps. "Sir, I-"

The man smiles faintly. "You should tell me to stop, Jaskier, to leave you alone." He's very close and moving closer, his breath tickling Jaskier's cheek, and he has to bite his lip to keep silent. "You should run."

Jaskier moans when Mr Rivia kisses the curve of his jaw, and his hips twitch into the gentle pressure of the man's hand. He should do all of those things, Mr Rivia is right. But he doesn't want to.

"Please," he whimpers instead, and the hand around his dick tightens.

"Tell me to stop," Mr Rivia repeats breathlessly, and Jaskier whines.

"Don't stop," he gasps, "please, sir, don't stop-"

It's like he's flipped a switch. Mr Rivia pushes the pillow away with a flick of his wrist, and his other hand goes to the back of Jaskier's head, angling him just right so he can kiss him. Jaskier whines as he opens for the man, and Mr Rivia makes a low sound that goes straight to Jaskier's cock.

It doesn't take long until he finds himself on his back, jeans tugged open and Mr Rivia's hand stroking him, and he's going to lose his fucking mind.

Mr Rivia is panting against his jaw, his eyes glued to his hand working Jaskier's dick. "You got no idea what seeing you like that did to me, kid. I had to leave you standing in my kitchen so I wouldn't just bend you over the counter and fuck you until you screamed."

Jaskier moans and arches into the man's touch. "I w-would've let you," he gasps, and Mr Rivia groans.

"You shouldn't. You're a kid, Jaskier-"

"I'm seventeen, and I- ah!- it's not like I'm a virgin."

Mr Rivia's hand slows the slightest bit at his declaration, and then it speeds up. "Should've known, with the way you slammed that thing into yourself." He sounds wrecked and hungry, and Jaskier shivers and presses himself closer.

"Please," he moans again, and Mr Rivia shifts and there's the hard line of his cock against Jaskier's thigh, and before Jaskier knows what's happening he cries out and comes, spilling over the man's hand and his own stomach.

Mr Rivia growls at him, strokes him through it, and he only stops when Jaskier bats weakly at his hand, legs shaking with overstimulation. Mr Rivia gathers him close and presses hungry kisses to his cheeks before he finds his mouth again. Jaskier tries to kiss back but he's still floating on the ecstasy of his orgasm.

When Mr Rivia pulls back, he asks, "Are you gonna let me?" and it takes Jaskier far too long to understand what he means.

What he means is, is Jaskier gonna let him fuck him?

Normally he'd probably say no. He's usually horribly sensitive after a good orgasm, and that one was phenomenal, but he wants it regardless. And so he winds an arm around Mr Rivia's neck and pulls him close and says yes.

He almost expects the man to just pick him up and carry him to his bedroom, but it seems he's not the only one with poor impulse control. He's put on his knees before the couch, and Mr Rivia grabs a bottle of lube from behind some of the books high up on the shelf, where Ciri can't reach. Jaskier chuckles. "Sneaky."

Mr Rivia smirks at him and starts to unbutton his trousers, and the chuckle dies in Jaskier's throat.

"Fuck." The man's cock is... well, not huge, but it's definitely big, and Jaskier both wants it in him even more than before and also has slight doubts about his ability to take it. Apparently Mr Rivia can see those doubts, because he oh so gently pulls his jeans down over the curve of his ass - with a barely contained groan as he squeezes his cheeks with both hands - and then spends a very, very long time fingering him open. By the time he deems him ready, Jaskier is hard again and drooling into the couch cushions.

Jaskier has been fucked before. Not often, but he's got some experience at least.

Nothing could have prepared him for Mr Rivia, or for anything about this.

When Mr Rivia pulls his fingers free, Jaskier feels wide, wide open, and something in his gut quivers, a heady mix of anticipation and fear. Then there's a loud slap, and it takes his lust-drunk brain a second to realise that it was the thick cock hitting his cleft, the one that is being dragged back and forth over his hole now. Mr Rivia's hands are clamped around his hips, fingers digging into his flesh, and when Jaskier manages to look back over his shoulder, he shivers at the intensity in Mr Rivia's eyes.

"Sir," he breathes, and the man's gaze meets his. He looks wild, like he's barely holding onto his sanity, and Jaskier arches his back, offers himself up once more. "Please."

Mr Rivia's mouth twitches, and the next time he pulls back, he guides his cockhead to Jaskier's hole, and then he presses in.

It's unlike anything Jaskier has ever felt. It sounds trite even as he thinks it, but the guys he's been with before were boys, clearly, and the sheer size of the man's dick puts all Jaskier's former partners to shame. This is a man, and he fucks Jaskier like a man. Every move is controlled, even though Jaskier can tell that control is fraying once Mr Rivia is balls deep inside him. He holds himself there for a long moment, which Jaskier spends whimpering into the couch cushions, and then he breathes out sharply, something that sounds like Jaskier's name. Then he starts to move.

It's quick, and deep, and Jaskier is embarrassed to say he comes after a scant few minutes, still sensitive from his first orgasm and the thorough fingering. He hides his face in his arm as he comes with Mr Rivia nailing his prostate like he's being paid for it, trying to smother his noises, but then Mr Rivia pulls his arm away and leans over his back, breath hot against Jaskier's cheek.

"Let me hear you," he groans, and Jaskier answers with a high whine as the pleasure peaks. It's ridiculous, it shouldn't be this intense the second time around, but it is and he's losing it. Mr Rivia is relentless, fucking him through it until he starts to squirm in beginning discomfort, and only then does he ease up. "Beautiful," he moans, his thrusts shallower, more careful, even though Jaskier can tell he's close, too.

"Come in me," he begs, and the man's grip on him tightens to the point where Jaskier is sure it'll bruise. "Please, sir, please come in my ass."

Mr Rivia groans like he's been stabbed, and the last of his control seems to go up in flames. He hammers into Jaskier like a man possessed, and now it is uncomfortable for Jaskier but he doesn't care. All he cares about is letting Mr Rivia take his pleasure inside him, and he clenches around him even as it makes his insides throb. Mr Rivia curses, and then his head drops forward onto Jaskier's shoulder as he ruts into him a couple times more before he stills, gasping and shaking as he fills Jaskier's guts.

They stay like that, until Mr Rivia has gone soft and slips out of Jaskier, but he doesn't go far. He sits on the coffee table with a grunt, softening dick smearing lube and come all over the front of his trousers, and Jaskier stretches with a groan. He can feel his hole twitching, and Mr Rivia sucks in a breath.

"Gods, Jaskier," he breathes, and then his brows draw together. "What have I done?"

Part 2

#the witcher #geraskier

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witcherslittledove · 2 years

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a fic where Henry fixates on Joey's rings pls it's what we deserve

Worth a Shot

Rated: E (for fantasies) Summary: Henry meets Joey at the table read for the Witcher, and immediately has a crisis. CW: RPF, referenced homophobia, smutty fantasies

AO3

If you were to ask Henry, he would have said he was an ass man, or at the very least a boobs man. The last thing he would have said was hands, or even men, and yet here he was staring across the table at his new co-star, his bard to be, watching as Joey fiddled with his ring. Whenever Jaskier had a line, Joey's hand would fling out and the actor would transform from shy and understated to the extroverted troubadour that Henry knew from the books and games. Well, not quite. Jaskier wasn't Dandelion exactly but there was something utterly captivating in the way Joey was playing him - less of a womaniser and more of a flirt... a lover. A lover that definitely had no qualms about flirting with Geralt which was surprising. The winks that Joey sent his way were unexpected, and already Joey was playing with the script a little, making Jaskier less of a best friend to Geralt and more an unrequited love. In between lines, Joey retreated back into his shell, not quite confident in the character or himself yet, and he kept spinning the ring on his finger.

Henry couldn't stop looking, and it was awfully distracting. He'd already stumbled over a few of his lines, caught off guard and far too busy with the crisis that was happening in his head. It was as if a dam had broken and all the thoughts Henry had pushed down over the years came flying back to the surface. Joey's hands were large, his fingers long and nimble, so very expressive. The rings, one on his ring finger the other on his pinky, only served to highlight the beauty of the man's hands, and Henry wanted... well he wasn't sure what he wanted?

To hold them perhaps?

Kiss each finger, the cool metal under his lips.

Maybe hold the fingers in his mouth, the weight pressing against his tongue.

Shit. It was his line. Henry coughed and tore his gaze away from Joey, ignoring the heat that was starting to tingle over his skin. But of course, Joey only made it worse, smirking as he scratched the stubble on his chin, his long fingers brushing against his own lips.

Making it to the end of the episode was rough, and Henry was half hard in his trousers by the time they were done. Grumbling an excuse, he fled to the loos, strategically holding his script to cover the growing bulge in his pants. Never in his life had Henry felt so unprofessional at a table read, nor so entirely out of his depth. Flirting and dating women was fine, he'd been doing that all his life. Yes, there was a little anxiety here or there but nothing that a good cuddle with Kal, or a call to his brother wouldn't fix, but dating a man? God, he had no idea where to start!

Would he have to come out to the media? Would it affect his career? Was it even worth it? Joey was playing a role, that didn't mean he was interested in men.

Henry cursed as he locked the stall, his fingers struggling with his zip as he rushed to get his cock in hand. The break wouldn't be long and he knew others would be coming to use the loo, but he needed this, he really fucking needed it. There was no way he'd make it through episode three like this and Joey wouldn't even be there.

It didn't take long. With the memory of Joey's long fingers so fresh in his mind, Henry was easily able to imagine that it was the other actor's hand around his cock, and within minutes Henry was spilling into his hand, Joey's name falling from his lips in a broken moan.

By some miracle, Henry's activities went unnoticed, and he managed to clean up and leave the scene of the crime without seeing anyone. The evidence of his crisis was flushed down the toilet and he was free... sort of. The only problem was they were still on a break, and there was Joey cooing over Kal by the coffee machine. It would be rude not to say hello, to introduce himself more formally, and so he did. Henry plastered a fake smile on his face as he made his way over to his beloved dog.

"Joey?"

"Ah, Henry, hi! I hope you don't mind. He was just looking so lonely on his own, and I'm not entirely brilliant at social situations. It seems like everyone is getting along splendidly and I- I am rambling. So sorry. Hi." Joey blushed, one hand running through his hair and then once again his fingers brushed over his lips.

And all Henry could think of was rings.

Before that day, Henry had never even thought about fingering himself. Despite knowing the pleasure it could bring, he was quite happy with the more traditional way of wanking... but now he couldn't stop imagining it; Joey carefully pulling off his rings before pushing Henry back onto the bed, table, couch... any surface would do. Maybe he would use his tongue first? That was meant to be good right? Or would he go straight to his fingers, working Henry open until he was a mess underneath Joey, just another instrument to be played to perfection.

And god, the man's voice. His lilting accent was already burned into Henry's brain, something he never wanted to forget. Would it get stronger the more aroused he was? What would it sound like whispering sweet nothings into Henry's ear?

"Henry? Are you okay?" Joey asked, his fingers flexing as his thumb ran along the silver band.

"Yeah," Henry muttered, his cheeks heating up a traitorous betrayal of his inner crisis. "Yeah fine. Sorry, forgive me if this is weird but... would you like to get a drink after this?"

Narrowing his ridiculously blue eyes, Joey peered up at him, his hand stilling in Kal's fur. "As in... a date?"

Henry laughed nervously, squatting down to scratch Kal behind the ears, purposely keeping his hands far away from Joey's no matter how much he wanted to reach out and take his hand. "Still... figuring that part out. Yes? Maybe... if not I- Do you like Warhammer?"

"Fuck! Do I like Warhammer?" Joey's eyes lit up and he beamed, any leftover tension melting from his body. "Henry, you can assume if it's anything remotely nerdy then I love it. Do you play D and D?"

And like that the ice broke, the attraction and arousal still burned through Henry, and he decidedly had to avoid looking at Joey's hands, lips... and his forearms. Jesus Christ were forearms meant to be that hot? Henry had never thought about that before... but the point was Joey was quickly becoming more than a pretty face. He liked Kal, he liked the things that Henry liked, he understood the job and the industry, and so Henry smiled to himself. If Joey wanted it to be a date then yes.... it was absolutely worth a shot.

#the witcher rpf #henry cavill rpf #joey batey rpf #henry cavill #joey batey #joey batey/henry cavill

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witcherslittledove · 2 years

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@deaddovecollector lovingly beta'd!

Geralt/Jaskier watch porn. Check the warnings!

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz

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witcherslittledove · 2 years

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@jaskiersbow Your prompt for more of this verse has been filled! Chapter 4 is finally up!

This is Geralt/CIri/Jask smut. It is Dead Dove. Heed the warnings.

#the witcher #geraskier #ciri/jaskier #ciri/geralt #ciri/jaskier/geralt #dead dove do not eat #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #cirilla fiona elen riannon

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witcherslittledove · 2 years

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Into The Woods

Rated: E Relationship: Background Geraskier Summary: Jaskier gets cursed, lost in the woods for months when he's finally cornered by a pack of wolves.

On AO3

CW: Dead dove do not eat, Bestiality, smut, knotting, cum inflation, belly bulge, multiple orgasms, blow jobs, blood and injury.

The woods were never meant to be Jaskier’s home. He’s had some experience on the path with Geralt but he was raised a noble and he’s used to certain luxuries. The dark forests that surround him now were far from luxurious. He’s not even entirely sure how he got so lost, or how long it’s been… only that his hair is now just below his chin and his beard had fully grown in. Logically, he knows that some sort of magic must be involved. There’s just no chance that he would have lost Geralt that quickly, one moment they’d been together and the next Jaskier had tripped… by the time he looked up - Geralt was long gone. So he’s stuck, lost, covered in dirt and sweat and dried cum.

Yes, he knows wanking in the woods is not ideal but even scared out of his mind, Jaskier’s sex drive is just through the roof, and he hasn’t exactly had the opportunity to wash off.

Honestly, he’s pretty proud of himself. Geralt would have just laughed if Jaskier told him that he’d survived for probably months on end in the woods. He was a mess of shredded clothes and cuts and grime… but alive. The forest had provided Jaskier with scarce meals of berries and whatever creatures he could trap and kill but he is tired and alone and so very miserable.

He's just grateful he's not met any real monsters… yet.

When the wolves approach Jaskier he's so desperate for physical contact that he wants them to get close to him, he doesn't even have enough energy or sense to be afraid. He’s just fucking relieved when they don't attack him. Instead, they sniff and lick at the cum that's matted into his chest hair and he can't help but feel aroused by it.

How long has it been since Jaskier has seen anyone? Been touched by anyone? And by all the gods, he's long past being disgusted by himself. After a few weeks in the wilderness… you simply stop caring.

It’s just another thing in a long list of shit that's happened to him recently.

As the wolves begin to sniff and lick closer and closer to Jaskier’s cock, the tendrils of pleasure turn to waves. He gets hard embarrassingly fast as the largest of the wolves starts to tear from the last remaining shreds of his pants, claws slicing into his skin, and he doesn't even try to resist when the pack forces him onto all fours, two of the smaller wolves licking at his cock and balls, another nosing at his hole.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Jaskier remembers that this is wrong, but that voice belongs to a Jaskier that hadn't been claimed by the woods. He's not the bard he was before and he wants this… he needs it.

He wants the wolves that are circling him, looking at him with a hunger he's never seen before, and when the first wolf starts to lick into him he cries out, the soft wet warmth of its tongue delving deeper into his hole than a human tongue ever could. The messy desperate sounds of the other wolves lapping at his cock have him on the edge of an orgasm faster than he thought was possible. Jaskier wants more, needs more and, he's ashamed to admit it but he's never quite been able to cum unless there's something in his mouth, his own hand, a lover's cock, a gag... something... anything... so he whines helplessly, desperate to cum but held on the edge - so empty and aching for more.

Clawing at the ground, Jaskier tries to coax another wolf to him, cooing at it like it were one of the hunting dogs from Lettenhove, but these wolves are nothing like the domestic studs from the kennels. They are wild, feral… shy of humans, despite the position Jaskier finds himself in. A pretty russet wolf is the bravest, shuffling forward cautiously until Jaskier can helplessly reach out for it, but he stumbles, his hand falling back to the ground for balance, scraping at the rocks and branches of the forest floor. The pain barely registers though as the wolf starts to lick at his face. Jaskier welcomes it, whimpering as he finally receives some resemblance of a kiss, wet, messy, hotter than it had any right to be. He’s desperate to have the wolf’s cock in his mouth, but he doesn't know how to ask for it? How to move the wolf so he can get his prize? Even now Jaskier is trapped by the others that are still lavishing his cock and arse with slobbering licks, until his legs are shaking with the effort of supporting his own weight.

But Jaskier can see the wolf's cock, unsheathed and leaking onto the ground… and he yearns.

Whining and whimpering like a bitch in heat, he pushes back against the tongue that’s still relentlessly lapping at his hole, rutting mindlessly as he chases his pleasure until finally, fucking finally, the russet wolf gets the idea, mounting him with its heavy paws on his shoulders and Jaskier sobs, choking on its cock, thinner than his witcher’s... for now.

Even before being stranded in the woods Jaskier was aware that wolves have knots, having spent his childhood looking after the hunting dogs, but suddenly all he can think of is being knotted and used and abused by this pack of wolves. Paws land on his back, pain ripping through him as the claws shred his skin and he cums, choking for breath around the cock in his mouth, tears streaming down his face as the wolf behind him ruts against him.

There’s a smear of cum in the thick russet fur as it looks at Jaskier with dark, hungry eyes. Shaking, Jaskier whines around the wolf in his mouth. He’s already so sensitive, his cock throbbing as the rough tongues lick against his skin, but slowly the smaller wolves move along his body, licking at the fresh cum splatter on his chest, up to his face, caught in the long bristles of his beard.

And fuck.

He gasps as suddenly he’s being split in two. His hole’s not stretched enough, still too dry as the wolf's cock is forced inside him with one swift thrust and he cries out with every snap of the wolf's hips, nails clawing at the ground, jaw aching around the cock in his mouth, already thicker as the knot begins to grow. Jaskier is helpless, barely holding onto consciousness as the taste of the wolf's cum fills his mouth, the wolf fucking into his arse rutting harder and faster without a care for Jaskier's own pleasure. It's already too much, he's too full, but it just keeps getting bigger, and he can hear his own voice, begging for more, begging to be knotted, his accent thicker and hoarse as wolf cum dribbles down his chin.

When the wolf knots him, he feels like he's ascended to another plane. Jaskier has never been so full, not even with Geralt's thick witcher cock. The wolf ruts the cum deep inside him and Jaskier is crying, his cock almost painful as he struggles to get hard again. He should feel disgusted with himself, tied to an animal, wolf cum filling him up, the beast breeding him like a bitch and the taste is still strange and yet weirdly addictive on his tongue.

As the pressure of the knot eases, Jaskier feels disappointed that his time with the wolves is ending but Jaskier should know better than to think it’s over.

When the knot finally goes down, the next wolf pounces on him before he can roll away, the cock slipping inside his used hole easier than the first, and by the time the second wolf has knotted him, filling him with its cum, Jaskier is half hard and rutting against the tongues of the smaller wolves once more, and they seem more than happy to comply.

The sex is rough, desperate, mindless. Jaskier is little more than a sex toy for the pack, their bitch to fuck and breed, knotted and used until his stomach is swollen with their cum. It’s as exhausting as it is blissful and he finds himself floating, stuffed full and desperate all at once. Despite his arousal, Jaskier doesn't cum again until the third wolf is balls deep in him. He keens as he spills onto the ground, biting his lip as he's worked through his second orgasm in too short a time. His lips aren't as good as a wolf's cock but he's too far gone to notice.

All he knows is that the woods have changed him. Jaskier the bard is well and truly wrecked, ruined until now only a shadow of a man remains, a bitch for a pack of wolves that he doesn’t know. So desperate for physical touch that he let himself beg and cry to beasts that didn't understand a word he said.

He quickly loses count of how many wolves there are, losing consciousness a couple of times as he takes knot after knot, until he belly was bulging with their cum. There’s a mess of his own spend dripping into the dirt below him, covering his chest and the muzzles of the smallest wolves. Before today, Jaskier didn’t know he could cum that much, never having the opportunity to be pushed to the edge again and again and again… he’s not sure one orgasm will ever be enough again.

Just when he thinks that it’s finally done, he’s pulled from the fog in his mind by a sharp pain at his core. He yelps as he looks down at his stomach, watching as the alpha’s cock thrusts inside him. It’s captivating to see… even Geralt’s cock was never quite so obvious. Fuck, and this isn’t its knot. Jaskier can’t take anymore. He’s sure his hole will never be the same again, loose and sloppy for all eternity… Geralt probably won’t even want to fuck him after this. Who would?

And perhaps that’s a good thing.

Who could possibly satisfy Jaskier after this? Everything else would seem… empty.

The knot begins to swell inside him and he thinks this might actually be the one to finish him. No mortal man is meant to take a cock this large, but the alpha wolf doesn’t care… none of them have. Jaskier means nothing to them.

“F-fucking hell…” he gasps, his voice broken and hoarse.

And he screams to lillit herself as the knot pushes past his rim for the last time, pain searing through his body. He’s fire and ice, burning… burning… burning…

The world goes black.

When he wakes he’s still surrounded by his pack, the wolves all curling up around him, protecting him. He’s in more pain than he’s ever been before, sore and well-fucked… and happy. With a sigh, Jaskier buries his face into the nearest wolf's fur, thanking the gods for whatever curse had trapped him in these woods. Even if Geralt were to find him, Jaskier isn’t sure whether he would leave. This is his home now, his pack, his family.

#the witcher #jaskier pankratz #julian alfred pankratz #jaskier #dead dove do not eat

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witcherslittledove · 2 years

Text

Last geraskier drabble for @thepassifloradiscord challenge

CW: Dead dove, bestiality, knotting, belly bulge, orgasm denial

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasps, his nails digging into the dirt.

Wolf’s paws scrape against Jaskier’s skin, searing pain down his back. It’s been so long since he’s given in to these urges, but gods, it’s worth the wait. There’s nothing quite like being fucked by wolves, their cocks pounding into him relentlessly. They don’t care if he cums, but he always does, knotted and split open over and over, filled with wolf cum until his belly bulges with their seed.

“Oh… gods,” he whines, pleasure coursing through him but Geralt’s hands tug sharply in hair.

“Don’t cum,” Geralt orders. “Not yet.”

#the witcher #dead dove do not eat #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz

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witcherslittledove · 2 years

Text

Another Geraskier Dead Dove drabble for @thepassifloradiscord challenge. Check the warnings!

#the witcher #geraskier #dead dove do not eat #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz

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witcherslittledove · 2 years

Text

Geraskier drabble for @thepassifloradiscord challenge.

CW: Dead dove do not eat, non con, forced mating, a/b/o

Geralt cupped the omega’s cheek, his skin soft and smooth beneath Geralt’s calloused fingers. An omega was a luxury for a butcher like him, and one that he intended to keep. Without effort, he tore the collar from the omega’s neck, ignoring his protests, and Geralt’s cock sank into the wet heat of the omega’s body as his teeth found their mark.

“Alpha, please, n-no,” the omega whined, cornflower blue eyes filled with fear and lust, a combination that made Geralt’s head thick with arousal.

The omega still fought, but Geralt didn’t care. They were mated, that’s all that mattered.

#the witcher #geraskier #dead dove do not eat #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz

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witcherslittledove · 2 years

Note

May i suggest Henry sending Joey v explicit geraskier fanart?? (On the behalf of the other boglets who would like to see it, no pressure though my love)

Painted Fantasies

Joey/Henry - Explicit.

CW: RPF, smut, hand jobs, mentions of oral, sex toys and anal sex.

Joey was all too aware of the fandom surrounding the first season of The Witcher, and it was bloody terrifying. On one hand, he was grateful for their support, those crazy, wonderful fans that had made the second season possible, but it was just a little bit much for him on some days. So despite his ill-judged drunken tumblr blog ways, Joey had mostly stayed away from the internet as much as he could. He didn’t even promote The Witcher in the same way his castmates did.

But his rather lovely new boyfriend seemed to thrive in the chaos that was the internet.

“Joey?” Henry asked from where he was happily reading on his phone at Joey’s feet.

Not looking up from his guitar, Joey hummed, his tongue slipping between his lips as he tested two variations of a chord, trying to work out which one would sound better for what he wanted. He winced as his fingers slipped and the string twanged nastily. “Bollocks.”

“Did you know that people “ship” our characters?” Henry’s head rolled back as he glanced up at Joey, and, if his guitar hadn’t been in the way, he would have leaned forward to kiss Henry’s forehead.

It was one of the many things in life he was still getting used to. The fame and lack of privacy he could live without, but The Witcher had brought him to Henry, so he would be forever grateful. It was a strange feeling, being allowed to hold the superstar and kiss him whenever he pleased, but Joey was determined to take advantage of that privilege before Henry inevitably realised he wasn’t good enough.

“Ship?” Joey asked, as if he hadn’t spent his childhood in nerdy fan spaces before it had moved online, but it was far less embarrassing to feign ignorance.

“They want Geralt and Jaskier to kiss… amongst other things.”

Setting aside his guitar on the sofa, Joey shuffled forward and cupped Henry’s face. “And what do you think, darling?”

Henry’s face blushed beneath Joey’s fingers, and he gingerly lifted up his phone for Joey to take. As he saw what Henry had been reading, Joey felt his own cheeks heat up and he whispered a low curse as his boyfriend scrambled to join him on the sofa.

“Oh,” was the only word that Joey could manage as he stared at the art Henry had pulled up on his phone.

It was incredibly well done, and there was no doubt that not only was it Geralt and Jaskier, but definitely their Geralt and Jaskier. He could recognise himself in Jaskier’s features, although the artist had been rather generous with Jaskier’s body… and the size of his cock.

“What do you think?” Henry grinned, plucking his phone back from Joey’s hands.

But Joey could still see it, the way Jaskier’s back arched off the mattress, his cock hard and leaking against his chest, the expression on his face… pure ecstasy and Geralt fucked into him, his hole shining with oil.

It should have been weird. He knew he should find it weird, the fact that strangers online were not only imagining him and Henry having sex, but also taking the time to draw it… and draw it very well and very explicitly. But instead, he felt the familiar heat of arousal prick against his skin, a slight fog settling in his mind as his hand pressed against his cock in his trousers.

“Ah, I-” he cursed, and made a grab for Henry’s phone.

They’d never had the opportunity to fuck in costume before they’d wrapped season one, and filming for season two hadn’t started yet. Not telling Henry about his feelings sooner had been one of Joey’s biggest regrets of season one, but by the time he’d gathered up the courage (or more accurately been allowed to have enough alcohol in his system) Jaskier’s scenes were all done and his costume had been swiped out of his reach by the wardrobe department.

But Christ, the fantasies he’d had about Henry taking him apart on set, looking into golden eyes instead of blue, long, silver hair replacing Henry’s brunet curls… they were mind-blowing.

It was as if the artist had reached into his brain and plucked his favourite fantasy and projected it onto the paper, which just wasn’t fair, especially as Henry wouldn’t let him see.

“Henry, give it back!”

“Wait, I have more.”

Fuck.

This wasn’t going to end well for him, and sure enough after a few moments of scrolling, Henry turned his phone back for Joey to have a look. The squeak that escaped him was quite frankly, embarrassing, but he really couldn’t be blamed. The art was just as explicit as the last one, but this time Jaskier had a pair of curly horns poking out from beneath his hair, his skin glowed a burnt orange, and a tail protruded from just above his arse, wrapping around Geralt’s throat as the witcher sucked his cock.

“Fuck,” Joey swore, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone. “Like holy shit, Henry.”

“Yup!” The bastard agreed cheerily as if he wasn’t completely destroying Joey without even touching him.

“An incubus?”

“Looks like it.”

There was a garbled noise as the phone fell into Joey’s lap and he covered his face with his hands. He was unreasonably turned on, his cock already throbbing in his trousers, and he was pretty sure it would only take a few quick strokes before cumming in his boxers like a horny teenager. Thankfully, Henry seemed to take pity on him and Joey was pulled into his boyfriend’s lap, their lips met in a heated kiss.

“Henry,” Joey moaned against his boyfriend’s lips as he rolled his hips forward, enjoying the feel of Henry’s erection pressing up against his arse. “You fucking bastard.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Henry chuckled, his lips brushing along Joey’s jaw to his earlobe, catching it between his teeth. “Wanna see if we can get our costumes back?”

“Fuck, yes.”

Joey half expected Henry to leave him hanging, to call up wardrobe right there and then with Joey rutting against him in his lap, pitiful and wanting. Even the thought of that made him whine, pressing open mouthed kisses against Henry’s neck, but Henry just slipped a hand into Joey’s trousers, wrapping around his cock with one swift and practised move. Pleasure ripped from him and Joey keened, biting down on whatever skin he could reach to muffle his cries and Henry began to stroke his cock, using the leaking pre-cum as lube.

If Joey had already been plugged and ready to go, he would have torn Henry’s clothes off him right there and then, impaling himself on Henry’s rather magnificent cock until they both exhausting and covered in cum and lube, but he knew he would barely make it past two fingers if Henry tried to prep him now. He was too on edge already, the art seared into his mind, and fuck, the fact that Henry had been the one to show him. How many other pieces of art had Henry seen and stored away? Had he only saved the best ones for Joey, picking the ones he thought Joey would like?

“F-fuck!” Joey gasped.

“That’s it, Joey, I’ve got you.” The words burned like fire in his ear as Henry’s other hand slipped up the back of his shirt, holding him close, supporting him as he lost control of everything, knowing only the pleasure, Henry’s fingers on his cock. “Cum for me, sweetheart.”

And he did. With a choked moan, Joey spilled over Henry’s hand, his vision fading to black as the waves of pleasure washed over him. He was only vaguely aware that he was still rutting in Henry’s lap, babbling nonsensical words, even as Henry stood up, holding Joey tightly as he was carried through to the bedroom.

The night had only just begun.

#joey batey #henry cavill #joey batey rpf #henry cavill rpf #joey batey/henry cavill #the witcher rpf

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witcherslittledove · 2 years

Note

Hey look, I remembered! Popping in to request Valdskier. AOB, alpha!Valdo and omega!Jaskier? We discussed Jaskier "cheating" on Valdo and Valdo snapping over it, including noncon and forced mating bites, but the cheating having been a misunderstanding. However you take it, I will adore every second of it, you're writing is wonderful and you are wonderful

Look I totally remembered to answer this... like 5 months later! It will be on AO3 tomorrow!

Valskier with a hint of Geraskier

CW: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Non Con, Mating bites, barely legal (they are at Oxenfurt), A/B/O dynamics, name calling, very toxic relationship, sexual abuse, blood and injury

Oxenfurt was a magical place, and Jaskier had expected to have many brilliant adventures in his few short years at the Academy there, but he never expected to fall in love - not properly. He fell in love all the time, it was a folly, but it was just a fleeting thing, nothing special.

Until he met Valdo.

Gods, the man was a bastard, a brutish alpha that just made Jaskier feel weak at the knees. If he could have chosen an alpha to fall in love with, then Valdo would have been the last person on his mind, but there he was, devastatingly in love with his fellow bard. It wasn’t fair, but at least the sex was a gift from the gods. The problem was, as tantalising as Valdo could be, he had a temper. One that Jaskier found himself on the wrong side of too many times.

They say that love is blind, but Jaskier disagreed. He wasn’t blind. There was no doubt in his mind that Valdo treated him poorly, but he just didn’t care. On a good day, there was no better man than Valdo Marx as he showered Jaskier with attention, dedicating songs to him, bringing him the finest roses and wine, and oh god, his heats were incomparable. Before Valdo, Jaskier’s heats were miserable affairs, even with other alphas when he’d been lucky enough to have company.

With Valdo… they were everything. The alpha tended to his every need, keeping him well-fucked, hydrated, and fed with the most delicious treats. He would fall asleep between waves with Valdo’s cock soft inside him even after the knot had gone down, and wake up to his alpha rutting into him as the next wave of the heat consumed him.

His Alpha.

Only Valdo wasn’t his.

No matter how much Jaskier had bared his neck and pleaded with Valdo, both in heat and out of it, the alpha wouldn’t mate him and it drove Jaskier mad. He was quite happy to be a free omega, but it was Valdo that insisted that they were exclusive, that no other cock would be worth Jaskier’s time.

Maybe that’s why Jaskier had started peacocking again, flaunting his beauty and dressing to impress, to seduce. He wanted Valdo, but if Valdo wouldn’t claim him then he was done. His heart ached even at the thought, but he couldn’t be kept on a hook anymore.

And there was rumour of a rather lovely looking witcher coming to town.

Now there was an alpha that would have any omega on their back. Witchers were coveted, rare, and pure alpha. They were especially sought out by those who didn’t want pups, those who wanted all the benefits of a big strong protector without the need to reproduce.

Someone like Jaskier.

He’d lucked out with Valdo so far, and it was clear that the man wasn’t exactly fertile considering how many times they’d fucked without any sort of elixir to prevent pregnancy. Perhaps that was the real reason Jaskier was so fond of Valdo… he’d never really thought about it before. The alpha gave Jaskier everything he wanted, even the things he’d never had to ask for… except a mating bite.

“Except a mating bite,” Jaskier repeated aloud as he sauntered over to the white-haired witcher in the corner. His shirt was open, revealing the chains that were looped into his nipple piercings, a third chain sneaking below his trousers, attached to an unseen ring around the base of his cocklet. They were silver to match the blue of his silk trousers, and Jaskier knew that he looked irresistible. “Alpha,” he purred as he slid into the bench opposite the witcher.

The flood of pheromones that were released between the two of them made the tavern smell more like a brothel, and Jaskier could feel himself leaking slick like nobody’s business. It was perfect, hot, and everything he’d been looking for that evening…

Except.

“Are you going to join me, omega?” the witcher asked, nostrils flared as he sipped his drink.

And Jaskier shook his head. “No. No. I- umm… I actually have an alpha.”

Shit.

The fucking bastard was ruining everything again, but Jaskier couldn’t let him go, even when he wanted to. Love wasn’t blind… it was cruel. Thankfully, the witcher let him go, another alpha would not have been so kind, and soon enough Jaskier was back at Valdo’s doorstep, feeling disgusted with himself and the actions he’d almost taken.

He didn’t deserve to be claimed.

“F-fuck,” he groaned, tearing at his hair.

“There you are, you little whore!” Valdo cried as the door flew open, revealing the man himself, a bottle of wine in his hand and his shirt hanging loosely on his chest. He was gorgeous, with dark chest hair peeking out from under the fabric, not as thick as Jaskier’s but even more beautiful. Running his hands through Valdo’s chest hair had always been Jaskier’s favourite thing to do post-sex on the rare occasion they were allowed to snuggle.

Today didn’t seem to be a good day though, but it didn’t matter. Wracked with guilt, Jaskier just needed to be in Valdo’s arms, grounded by the soothing scent of alpha. It left him feeling weak, a slave to his own biology. And yet, Jaskier still flung his arms around Valdo’s neck, nuzzling against his scent gland with quiet whimpers, clinging onto his alpha for dear life.

Until he was thrown to the ground, landing heavily with a sickening crack. Pain seared through his arm and he screamed, not daring to look down at his wrist that he was sure was now broken. A bard with a broken wrist was useless, just another thing that Valdo would make sure he knew.

“You clumsy, cheating, little shit!” Valdo sneered, pulling Jaskier up by the arm and not caring about Jaskier’s pained cries. “Get in! I should lock you up, make sure you never step out on me again. A witcher? Really? What makes you think that a witcher would ever look at you?”

“It was just some fun, nothing happened.” Jaskier sniffed, trying desperately not to cry. He really hated crying, but his arm really fucking hurt, and all he’d wanted was the comfort of his love. “Nothing happened.”

Scoffing, Valdo dragged Jaskier into the house, through the book covered entrance hall and up the stairs until Jaskier was thrown onto the bed. “Nothing happened. Of course nothing bloody well happened. He probably took one look at you and felt sick. I’m the only one that could ever love you, Jaskier, you know this.”

It wasn’t true, Jaskier knew it wasn’t true… but he’d heard Valdo’s lies enough that he couldn’t help but doubt himself. It didn’t matter that he’d seen with his own eyes that the witcher had been interested, he smelled it. There was no mistaking the rush of pheromones, the stench of desire. The witcher had wanted him, would have loved him. Jaskier was lovable. He was.

He was.

So why did he whimper and nod his head, letting Valdo’s cruel words burn him so badly?

“I know,” he whined. “Valdo, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?! You made me look like an idiot, omega. Tell me why I shouldn’t just dump you on the streets like the common whore you are?”

“I’m not a whore, I love you. Alpha, please!”

Tears pricked in Jaskier’s eyes. The yelling was the worst, he could take the beatings like a champ, but the words cut deep, deeper than Jaskier was willing to admit. Despite the fact he knew that Valdo was a cruel and terrible mate, he couldn’t seem to be able to let go.

“Please? Fine, you whore, I’ll give you what you want. It’s clearly the only way to get you to behave, but if you dare even think about cheating on me again… I will kill you, darling. Don’t underestimate me.”

Jaskier felt his eyes go wide.

“Oh fuck,” he gasped.

Yes, Valdo had beaten him to a pulp. He’d been yelled at and belittled beyond compare, but never, never, had Valdo threatened to have him killed. It suddenly dawned on him how dangerous the love of his life truly was, and how big a mistake he was making by being with his fellow bard. He had to get out…

Now.

The witcher.

Geralt of Rivia was in town, a perfect alpha to protect him and there really had been a connection between them. You just couldn’t fake that smell of lust, not unless you were prepared. It was the only plan Jaskier had, get out the house, get to Geralt, try not to die in the process.

“I- I need to go,” he stammered as he started to crawl off the bed but Valdo was faster.

Before he could move, his wrists were pinned to the mattress and the alpha had straddled his hips. Jaskier’s shirt was torn off, catching in the chains across his chest and he cursed as they pulled at his nipples, but he was used to the pain, almost to it. He barely noticed the blood as the piercing ripped.

“I don’t want this,” he snapped, trying to kick back against Valdo’s chest. “Not anymore. Let me go, Valdo.”

But the alpha didn’t listen, and despite their similar builds, Valdo easily overpowered Jaskier, his pants soon following his shirt. The rush of slick from the tavern was still sticky on his thighs, but it wasn’t nearly enough to take Valdo’s cock without foreplay, he was too dry, too tight. Valdo didn’t care, and he forced his prick into Jaskier’s hole with a feral growl, rutting into him like a man possessed.

“You’re mine,” the alpha hissed into his ear. “My ugly little whore.”

Jaskier felt his body go limp. It wasn’t the first time Valdo had fucked him when he wasn’t in the mood, and if Jaskier was unlucky, it wouldn’t be the last. After fights, Valdo liked to take Jaskier, to remind him of who he belonged to, but Jaskier was always drained, emotionally and physically, and no matter how fucking brilliant Valdo and his cock could be… there was a time and place for it. He’d learnt that it was easier to just take it, and he had never wanted to anger Valdo, to make it worse and lose him.

He could almost laugh at the irony.

By the time Valdo had finished, his knot swelling and locking them together, Jaskier was numb, having fallen into a meditation in an attempt to block out what was happening to him. He still winced at the sharp pain as the knot tugged at his abused hole, grimacing as he felt the rush of cum fill him up. That was a feeling that he’d never enjoyed, not outside of heats. There was always the reminder that he could fall pregnant, and he just really didn’t want that. It was the worst part of sex for him.

But that meant it was over, and he could run. He’d pack his bags in the dead of night and runaway, never seeing Valdo Marx ever again and-

“Fuck!” he yelped as he felt Valdo’s teeth sink into his neck.

A mating bite.

“Wait, what? No! Marx, get the fuck off of me!”

“Quiet omega.” The alpha voice sank into Jaskier’s bones, gripping his soul and his jaw snapped shut without hesitation.

Shit. He’d forgotten about that particular side-effect of the mating bond, it was designed to protect the omegas, or at least that was what the alpha mages said, Jaskier thought it was bullshit, and he’d been so caught up in wanting Valdo to mark him… that he’d forgotten about the control it would give the alpha.

He whimpered softly, unable to do or say more.

“Good boy,” Valdo said, a purr starting to rumble in his chest. “My omega, such a good pretty little boy.”

And Jaskier couldn’t help but preen under his alpha’s praise, despite the taste of bile at the back of his throat, and he sighed as he closed his eyes, letting Valdo clear up the mess of blood on his neck.

He was a good omega… and that was enough for now.

#the witcher #valdo marx #valskier #valdskier #jaskier/valdo #jaskier pankratz #jaskier #valdo #dead dove do not eat

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