colombemorte

[colombemorte]

Playmating? In ABO verse, it's the idea that adolescent folk need to Practice- Practice presenting for each other, mounting each other, humping each other. Usually clothes stay on, because they aren't Ready for Full Sex. ;) Young, horny, alphas knotting in their trousers and omegas dripping through the seats of their pants... Anyway. Playmating. Young Witchers. Kaer Morhen. All alpha on alpha? Or do they get with other schools in the summer for Playmating class, maybe cat School is all Omega? ;)

PLAYMATING! The intersection of earnest, natural behaviors and training/priming for sex is.... way too appealing to me.

Most of the trainees have already begin to hump their pillows/lash out at the boys in beds too close to theirs when they start to feel that ache in their belly by the time they’re walked through play-mating proper.  all adolescents experience the urge, shoving and wrestling and roughhousing their friends turning into quick, eager humping, with no real intentional motivation behind it except that it feels good and Right, although it has quite a bit more gravity in Witcher schools.  It’s what solidifies the pecking order between them + stops them from fighting badly enough to seriously injure themselves when they’re grown.  So many alphas in such close quarters unequivocally need to have sorted out their social pecking order before they get old enough that fighting/posturing could become lethal.  They lose enough whelps to the trials to have them killing eachother over who’s the top dog.  The set of mutagens specific to the wolf school lends itself toward alphas having a higher chance of surviving, so for the most part only alpha children are taken, unless it’s a child abandoned at the keep or a genuinely unintentional child surprise.

In Geralt and Eskel’s crop of boys, there are two betas and six alphas, and the dorm has reached a state of near-warfare by the time they’re marched out to the training field, the usual upright sword dummies replaced with what look kind of like hip-height, stuffed leather benches.  While they’re very comfortable fighting and gnashing teeth and measuring dicks in the very relative privacy of their rooms, they’re all embarrassed stiff when their fair but no-nonsense old alchemy instructor tells them to mount them.  This reluctance lasts until they catch the scent of slick that had been dragged across the backs of the things- one of the few, fully fledged omega wolves had rubbed his slit across all of them, just enough that it gets the pups stiff in their trousers, even the betas. A compelling, instinctual urge has them approaching and nosing across them, licking at the traces of slick and finally wrapping their arms around them, grinding mindlessly against them with startled pleasure.  none of them had ever gotten the chance to just hump before- with their brothers, it was always a fight, even if they did manage to pin the other down that pleasure was jerky and hard-won.  the mating dummies give them a chance to experience what it’s supposed to feel like, how to temper the aggression and focus on the act itself.

It drastically reduces injuries and conflict between them: they still scrap, but they know how it’s supposed to go know, and once thoroughly beaten the loser dutifully holds themselves still in mounting position until the winner has gotten off against them, frequently ruining their own pants/braies too in the process.  neither eskel nor geralt has ever lost a bid for dominance; they’re so close that their instructors think they’re going to end up a bonded alpha pair before they make it out onto the path, dual heads of whatever pack they decide to pick up over the course of their life.  They tussle very rarely, and when they do it’s generally inconclusive: geralt’s better at technical fighting, working his angles and grappling, but eskel’s a savant at signs, able to send geralt careening halfway across the room with a twitch of his fingers into aard if he’s given the room to do so.  they mostly nip at and mount their other brothers, gently bullying them into accepting their place, and curl up with eachother affectionately at night. 

Eskel doesn’t get as up in arms about challenges as Geralt does, and is much gentler in responding to them; he doesn’t have the underlying viciousness of most alphas, which is probably why they’re able to co-exist so well.  Still, he’s bigger than the rest of the boys his age, broadening out early into his bulk, muscle padded with fat where the rest of his early/mid-teenage crop are still whip-thin and gangly with puberty, so nobody dares make comment on it.  geralt’s knot pops faster than it ever has in his life when, after he’s recovered from the agonizing, sickening ordeal of his second set of mutations and allowed back into the shared dorms, eskel gets down on his knees and forearms and arches his back for him, in front of everybody, rumbling invitingly in his cracking, newly-developed alpha pitch.  geralt messes himself trying to climb onto him, corded but skinny thighs stretched wide to bracket Eskel’s thick, tan ones, hugging around his torso with his mouth open and eyes unfocused as he ruts gracelessly through his orgasm.  He can feel Eskel’s balls draw up where he’s pressed against them through their clothes, and pushes his wet crotch even more frantically against him at the smell of Eskel’s cum, at Eskel liking it, liking /him./

Playmating Eskel doesn’t feel like dominating or controlling him, like it does with the other boys.  It feels like bonding, practicing and proving himself- he’s a good virile alpha who’ll be able to please their pack one day, and he wants to make sure Eskel knows that. 

Eskel begins to hold it over Geralt’s head, just a little bit, letting him hump against him in exchange for stolen booze and his dried fruit rations, unashamed and luxurious in how much he’d grown to enjoy the ritual of teasing, testing, letting Geralt climb on when he was kind and agreeable and leaving him wanting when he was belligerent.

I ALSO love the idea of the cat school mutations lending itself towards a higher omega survival rate, and them integrating for a few weeks a year because of it.  The alpha wolves get experience pleasing an omega, learning how to be gentle and not hurt a partner for when they’re out on the path around fragile non-witchers, and the omega cats get experience in how to tease and entice and manipulate alphas, since theirs is a much more cloak-and-dagger school of thought and action.

[colombemorte]

57 + 98 for geralt/jaskier pretty please <3

“we’re in public you know”

“guess i’ll have to cum inside you then”

(bottom geralt and semipublic sex, geralt/jaskier, explicit)

--

Jaskier was touchy on the best of days, but since he'd received Geralt's confirmation that their feelings were shared (in Geralt's defense, he had been bleeding to his death), he'd been insatiable about it.

Kisses in hidden corners, tangling their fingers under the table, just ... beaming every time Geralt looked at him.

Geralt was afraid that his own happiness was just as obvious, making it hard to be too stern with the bard.

"We're in public," Geralt growled, weakly batting at Jaskier's advances.

"Who's to see? It's dark," Jaskier laughed, dressed in velvets as lush as wine, his lips intoxicating in the moonlight. Geralt kissed him, and kissed him again, feeling the rough brick against his back as Jaskier shoved him into an alley.

Late night in the Red Light district of Novigrad, there were more than a few couples moaning in their own dark little corners. A late-summer breeze stirred Geralt's hair against the back of his sweat-slick neck as he grabbed at Jaskier's body beneath his slippery clothes, desperate for the shape of him to fill Geralt's palms.

"Let's make it quick and dirty," Jaskier panted, his hand sliding down the curve of Geralt's side, lower, grabbing Geralt's cock through his braies. "Just to take the edge off."

Cursing Jaskier's firm, clever grip, Geralt felt his entrance twitch, his hand fisting the hair at Jaskier's nape as the ache settled in. "Fuck," Geralt muttered, letting Jaskier turn him to face the wall as he tore at the laces of his braies. "You'll make a mess of me."

They were well past that, probably.

"Guess I'll have to spill inside you," Jaskier whispered against the shell of Geralt's ear, grinding the hard ridge of his cock against Geralt's ass. "Make you leak with it all the way back to the inn."

Geralt dropped his forehead to his arm braced against the brick, his eyes closing and breathing growing heavier, imagining the stretch-burn of being fucked by Jaskier's cock, the slick, shameful ache between his thighs after. Walking the cold, moonlit streets, passing unknowing townspeople with his ass dripping and his fingers tangled warmly in Jaskier's, filled by him in a dozen indelible ways.

"Needy bastard," Geralt muttered as he shoved his braies down his hips, not knowing, in that moment, which one of them he was chastising

[colombemorte]

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. CW for dubious consent and somnophilia (sort of)

It starts one night like any other.

They've been sleeping under the stars since they met back up in spring, the fair weather offering pleasant enough temperatures that Geralt hasn't deemed necessary to rent a room until now, despite Jaskier's regular - and loud - protests. 

Tonight, though, after a well-paid hunt and a successful performance at the local tavern, Geralt has agreed to stay at the inn. When offered the choice between getting two individual rooms, or one room and a bath, they didn't hesitate. After sleeping in the wild and digging holes to shit in for weeks, it's the closest thing to luxury Jaskier can think of. 

Most of all, he revels in the smell of Geralt (the smell of clean Geralt, rare enough to be appreciated) around him, the Witcher's warmth against his back, the slow rhythm of his breaths soothing Jaskier, guiding him to the edge of sleep. An easy smile lingers on his lips, and he lets his thoughts wander, not yet dreams but unravelling already. 

There's a shuffle at his back that he barely registers; Geralt often has trouble falling asleep, tossing and turning is not unusual for him. 

Jaskier doesn't worry when a hot hand lands softly on his hip either; though Geralt would deny it, he does have an habit of cuddling in his sleep. It's one of Jaskier's favourite secrets, and his smile widens as he keeps his eyes closed and his breathing even. 

The hand stays where it is for an indefinite amount of time, Jaskier slipping further into unconsciousness, warm and content. 

But then it slides, over the jut of his hip and to his thigh, slow and light, a feather caress that leaves a burning trail behind. Jaskier doesn't react, muddled and confused, and the hand keeps going. When it reaches his knee, it slides back up, dipping forward between his thighs until it almost brushes Jaskier's soft cock, and then it disappears. 

Relief and disappointment mingle in Jaskier's chest. Geralt must have been having a dream and woke up, realising he'd been fondling Jaskier in his sleep. 

The theory is dismissed when Geralt's hand returns, this time at the back of Jaskier's leg, thumb caressing the delicate seam where thigh becomes ass, before pressing harder, spreading Jaskier's cheeks. 

Jaskier's mouth opens, in protest or in encouragement he couldn't say, but the words die in his throat anyway when the unmistakable hard heat of a cock slides between his thighs. 

Stomach swooping with shock and confusion, Jaskier stares into the dark as Geralt's fat prick drags against his most sensitive skin, wetness trailing behind it as Geralt pulls back, only to fuck back in with a grunt. 

Is Geralt sleeping, dreaming of a pretty girl to plow, his body acting on instinct? But Jaskier knows the Witcher is a light sleeper, awake at the faintest noise, aware of his surroundings even in his deepest state of unconsciousness. That can't be involuntary, which means...

Which means Geralt is using Jaskier's body like a toy, in the middle of the night, when Jaskier is supposedly fast asleep. 

A sick sort of arousal curls in Jaskier's core at the thought, his soft cock plumping up as Geralt's drags over his balls over and over. He's dreamt of this kind of scenario countless times, Geralt taking his pleasure in Jaskier without asking, desperate and hungry for him. The truth is different. Jaskier knows this is deeply wrong, but he hardens all the same, uncomfortable but too scared that Geralt will stop if he moves even a muscle. 

Behind him, Geralt's breath is heavy, his grunts absurdly reminding Jaskier of the boars that sometimes forage around their camp during the night. The sound of his hips hitting Jaskier's ass is muffled by the covers as he speeds up, seeking his release. Hiking one leg up to rest over Jaskier's, Geralt presses down, creating a tighter channel to fuck in, lubricated by his own precome. 

Tentatively, Jaskier cants his hips just a notch, and with the next thrust, the blunt head of Geralt's cock catches on the rim of Jaskier's hole. Jaskier opens his mouth in a silent gasp, pleasure sparking up his spine both at the sensation and at the thought of Geralt slamming inside him, though that could never happen without stretching him first. 

It affects Geralt as well, undoubtedly : the Witcher's movements stutter, and his hands tighten on the flesh of Jaskier's hips, sure to leave bruises; in his lust-addled brain, Jaskier hazily wonders if Geralt still thinks he's asleep. 

Jaskier's cock is now fully hard, bobbing against his stomach and rubbing on the sheets, ruining them with the almost constant drops of precome he's leaking. He aches to touch himself, but the movement will be too obvious, he can't take the risk that Geralt will stop.

Would he keep going, if Jaskier assured him he didn't mind? Would he take the time to stretch him so he could fuck him for real, use his hole like he's using his thighs? Jaskier would offer his mouth as a cocksleeve, if it allowed him to watch Geralt's face in the throes of orgasm. 

The thought punches a strangled whine out of his throat, his own climax building up his spine, but he doesn't have time to worry that his state of consciousness will be discovered as Geralt thrusts one last time before coming in long, hot stripes over Jaskier's thighs and balls. 

Geralt's chest heaves against his back, his breath cooling the sweat on Jaskier's shoulders. After a few seconds, he pulls back with a contented sigh, his softening cock slipping from between Jaskier's thighs, and turns to lie on his back. It sucks all the warmth from Jaskier's body, the freezing fingers of loneliness replacing Geralt's on the bruised flesh of his hips.

Eyes staring blindly in the dark, barely breathing, Jaskier listens to the Witcher's breath deepen, cock achingly hard as sticky spend cools on his skin. 

[colombemorte]

I’m so much more productive after the sun goes down. While the sun is up I feel the weight of having to do things and it just overwhelms me.

But when the sun has gone to bed suddenly my time is my own. I can do with it what I will and oftentimes that means the cleaning I’ve been meaning to do, the projects I’ve been putting off. They suddenly don’t seem overwhelming to me.

I like it when the sun goes down.

[colombemorte]

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. CW for dubious consent and somnophilia (sort of)

It starts one night like any other.

They've been sleeping under the stars since they met back up in spring, the fair weather offering pleasant enough temperatures that Geralt hasn't deemed necessary to rent a room until now, despite Jaskier's regular - and loud - protests. 

Tonight, though, after a well-paid hunt and a successful performance at the local tavern, Geralt has agreed to stay at the inn. When offered the choice between getting two individual rooms, or one room and a bath, they didn't hesitate. After sleeping in the wild and digging holes to shit in for weeks, it's the closest thing to luxury Jaskier can think of. 

Most of all, he revels in the smell of Geralt (the smell of clean Geralt, rare enough to be appreciated) around him, the Witcher's warmth against his back, the slow rhythm of his breaths soothing Jaskier, guiding him to the edge of sleep. An easy smile lingers on his lips, and he lets his thoughts wander, not yet dreams but unravelling already. 

There's a shuffle at his back that he barely registers; Geralt often has trouble falling asleep, tossing and turning is not unusual for him. 

Jaskier doesn't worry when a hot hand lands softly on his hip either; though Geralt would deny it, he does have an habit of cuddling in his sleep. It's one of Jaskier's favourite secrets, and his smile widens as he keeps his eyes closed and his breathing even. 

The hand stays where it is for an indefinite amount of time, Jaskier slipping further into unconsciousness, warm and content. 

But then it slides, over the jut of his hip and to his thigh, slow and light, a feather caress that leaves a burning trail behind. Jaskier doesn't react, muddled and confused, and the hand keeps going. When it reaches his knee, it slides back up, dipping forward between his thighs until it almost brushes Jaskier's soft cock, and then it disappears. 

Relief and disappointment mingle in Jaskier's chest. Geralt must have been having a dream and woke up, realising he'd been fondling Jaskier in his sleep. 

The theory is dismissed when Geralt's hand returns, this time at the back of Jaskier's leg, thumb caressing the delicate seam where thigh becomes ass, before pressing harder, spreading Jaskier's cheeks. 

Jaskier's mouth opens, in protest or in encouragement he couldn't say, but the words die in his throat anyway when the unmistakable hard heat of a cock slides between his thighs. 

Stomach swooping with shock and confusion, Jaskier stares into the dark as Geralt's fat prick drags against his most sensitive skin, wetness trailing behind it as Geralt pulls back, only to fuck back in with a grunt. 

Is Geralt sleeping, dreaming of a pretty girl to plow, his body acting on instinct? But Jaskier knows the Witcher is a light sleeper, awake at the faintest noise, aware of his surroundings even in his deepest state of unconsciousness. That can't be involuntary, which means...

Which means Geralt is using Jaskier's body like a toy, in the middle of the night, when Jaskier is supposedly fast asleep. 

A sick sort of arousal curls in Jaskier's core at the thought, his soft cock plumping up as Geralt's drags over his balls over and over. He's dreamt of this kind of scenario countless times, Geralt taking his pleasure in Jaskier without asking, desperate and hungry for him. The truth is different. Jaskier knows this is deeply wrong, but he hardens all the same, uncomfortable but too scared that Geralt will stop if he moves even a muscle. 

Behind him, Geralt's breath is heavy, his grunts absurdly reminding Jaskier of the boars that sometimes forage around their camp during the night. The sound of his hips hitting Jaskier's ass is muffled by the covers as he speeds up, seeking his release. Hiking one leg up to rest over Jaskier's, Geralt presses down, creating a tighter channel to fuck in, lubricated by his own precome. 

Tentatively, Jaskier cants his hips just a notch, and with the next thrust, the blunt head of Geralt's cock catches on the rim of Jaskier's hole. Jaskier opens his mouth in a silent gasp, pleasure sparking up his spine both at the sensation and at the thought of Geralt slamming inside him, though that could never happen without stretching him first. 

It affects Geralt as well, undoubtedly : the Witcher's movements stutter, and his hands tighten on the flesh of Jaskier's hips, sure to leave bruises; in his lust-addled brain, Jaskier hazily wonders if Geralt still thinks he's asleep. 

Jaskier's cock is now fully hard, bobbing against his stomach and rubbing on the sheets, ruining them with the almost constant drops of precome he's leaking. He aches to touch himself, but the movement will be too obvious, he can't take the risk that Geralt will stop.

Would he keep going, if Jaskier assured him he didn't mind? Would he take the time to stretch him so he could fuck him for real, use his hole like he's using his thighs? Jaskier would offer his mouth as a cocksleeve, if it allowed him to watch Geralt's face in the throes of orgasm. 

The thought punches a strangled whine out of his throat, his own climax building up his spine, but he doesn't have time to worry that his state of consciousness will be discovered as Geralt thrusts one last time before coming in long, hot stripes over Jaskier's thighs and balls. 

Geralt's chest heaves against his back, his breath cooling the sweat on Jaskier's shoulders. After a few seconds, he pulls back with a contented sigh, his softening cock slipping from between Jaskier's thighs, and turns to lie on his back. It sucks all the warmth from Jaskier's body, the freezing fingers of loneliness replacing Geralt's on the bruised flesh of his hips.

Eyes staring blindly in the dark, barely breathing, Jaskier listens to the Witcher's breath deepen, cock achingly hard as sticky spend cools on his skin. 

[colombemorte]

[1] 14 y/o Jaskier is little Ciri's babysitter, who Geralt molests. After Ciri has gone to bed he calls him in to sit on his lap while they watch movies, Geralt rubbing his hand up and down over his crotch telling him what a sweet boy he is, taking care of Geralt's daughter, Geralt should make him a mommy, give him his own baby to look after. Jaskier is confused and scared but Mr Rivia touching his privates feels so so good and his own dad had never told him he was a perfect, special boy

[2] Geralt leans into the unwilling enjoyment, telling him his classmates and parents would be ashamed of what a slutty little boy he was, that this has to be their secret, how much Jaskier loves having his too-tight little hole split open by Daddy cock. Jaskier loves the attention of a doting older man, loves the way Geralt calls him a good wet bitch fucks so deep into him it bruises his guts, loves that someone is taking an interest in his life. [3] Geralt waves Jaskier’s parents goodbye as they leave and then gets his cock out for Jaskier to suck, telling him to be Daddy’s good cocksleeve, that theyre going to practice getting Jaskier pregnant for when he’s old enough for seed to take. Jaskier doesnt even try to integrate with romantic interests his age, he loves geralt so so much and the man makes his feel so so good even when he fucks into jaskier while he was sleeping or held him against the wall by his throat to fuck him [end]

Young little Jaskier just needing someone to care for him, to love him if only for his body. He manages to land the job as a babysitter quite early on, thirteen and bored out of his mind from school and extra hours being forced to study instead of playing with other kids. His parents agrees to let him answer the little ad posted in his school, calling him productive for once as he makes his own money. Geralt pays well, welcoming the boy inside as he is about to head out. When he comes back late at night, he finds the boy curled up on the couch, resting after getting Ciri in bed, and he can’t help but finding him all kinds of adorable. He manages to keep away from him for a year, watching as Jaskier gets increasingly more comfortable in his house and around the man. It’s one night that he comes home and wants to praise him, calling him a good boy as he prompts Jaskier to sit in his lap.

It starts pretty innocently, Geralt just letting him sit there while praising him, his cock hardening underneath Jaskier’s weight. But he does nothing, just watches the boy squirm around at first and then slowly relax into the kind words, almost choking up as he is unfamiliar with the feeling of being wanted. Geralt drives him home after that, saying he might need his help with Ciri more often from now on. He stays home with the two more often, saying he just needs someone to take care of his daughter as he works from home. As soon as the girl is tucked into bed, Geralt offers to watch some movies together before he has to go back, the boy agreeing happily as it meant less time with his parents. Hands sneak up his back, rests on his shoulders, pats his hair and moves him closer to the man, and Jaskier loves the attention, beaming at the touches and kind words.

One night Geralt makes him sit in his lap again, holds him still as he grinds up against him. Jaskier asks what he is doing, looking back at the man’s face scrunched up in pleasure. Geralt just keeps going, sneaking one hand to the front of Jaskier’s pants to stroke him through the fabric. The boy knows about masturbation, obviously, but doesn’t understand why Geralt is doing it to him, but it feels so good, his moans coaxing the man to call him a good boy, telling him he takes such good care of his little girl and should come stay here, be Ciri’s mommy. Jaskier is slack in his grip, head leaned back onto Geralt’s shoulder as he ruts back onto the hand, getting louder with each praise. He comes after some time, the movie completely forgotten in front of them as he cries out and spills inside his pants. Geralt is quick to follow, coming undone as he watches Jaskier twitch in his arms. When the boy comes back to it, he coos and pets him down, making sure to call him all kinds of nice things. When Jaskier starts moving about, getting a bit uncomfortable, Geralt switches tone and forces the boy to face him, straddling his thighs.

He tells Jaskier that it’s their secret, threatens with what his parents and friends would think of such a dirty little slut for enjoying himself. He makes the boy promise he will never tell anyone, that it would make him a very bad boy and that everyone would be ashamed of him for knowing what a whore he has been. But Geralt is not ashamed, he loves Jaskier. He loves his little sounds and wants to make him a pretty mommy. This makes Jaskier just more dependent on the man, needing the doting attention he gets from being good and knowing that he is the only one who will ever accept him despite being a dirty little bitch. And so it’s all set.

Jaskier comes to visit more often after that, Ciri not even home some of the times, instead spending time with her real mother. Those days are spent in it’s entirety with Geralt, learning to take his member down his throat and being stretched open wide from his cock. He is so small, Geralt filling him up completely as he bounces in his lap. Jaskier gets over the hurdle of being uncomfortable easily, conditioned by the man’s words of praise to love every single thing he does to him. He pants and leaks precome when he called Daddy’s little breeding bitch, loves it when Geralt says he will fuck him until he is pregnant with his babies. He stays on his knees between Geralt’s thighs for hours on end, lapping at his cock and warming it in his mouth like a good little boy.

As time goes on, Geralt gets progressively rougher. Jaskier barely notices as all he can think of is how good he makes him feel, how much he feels loved by the man se he pounds into him hard enough to bruise. He learns how to hide a limp, what to wear to cover up the hickeys and marks left on his body. He begs for Geralt’s cum like a whore, the other calling him a needy little cocksleeve and wet bitch in heat as he comes all over the boy’s face. Jaskier comes the moment Geralt chokes him hard against a wall, his hand and cock being the only thing keeping him in the air. He starts having sleepovers with him, getting fucked all night long and waking up with a cock still inside of him. Sometimes Ciri is still home, Geralt gagging the boy or forcing him to be quiet so she won’t wake up.

Jaskier loses interest in the pretty girls fawning over him, doesn’t pay much attention to his friends or class anymore. All he wants is his daddy to fill him up again, to make him bear his babies over and over and makes him a mommy. He wants to move in with the man, to be used all day and feel pretty and wanted.

[colombemorte]

A few days ago, @candybarrnerd and I were riffing on the idea of Geralt being a terrible lay, and I have not known a single moment of peace since.

[colombemorte]

At long last, I'm getting somewhere with this. I present to you:

I'm not going to write all the tags here, please check them out on AO3 to see if they're a "nope" for you. There will be child abuse, badly handled trauma, soulmate angst, a huge age gap, and underage sex. A lot of underage sex.