Ooh how about something with tentacles gets Jaskier in the woods and there's oviposition? Geralt rescues him and possibly there's a bit about Jaskier having to expel the eggs much to his embarrassment, if you're into that part. ❤️
ooh I love! it’s here on ao3, or read below:
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.”
That was the last thing Jaskier was aware of, and he fell asleep trusting Geralt to get him back to the inn and cleaned up, and then tucked into bed.