White Woves
Small/ self-indulgent Jaskier/wolf pwp.
Enjoy <3
You're worrying about nothing, it won't kill him.
Yen...
He's just going to spend the night in the pillory, nothing more. What are you so worried about?
They're very small-minded here. I noticed that when they tried to throw rocks at me as I was arriving.
If Jaskier had been caught with a serving-maid, or perhaps the wife of a minor noble, there'd have been hot words and that idiot would have just been thrown out. But as it stands, your idiot friend was seen in the bed of the voivode. With the voivod's daughter. Who is engaged to a very influential trader. So you can imagine that a night locked in the pillory in the town square is small price to pay, next to - I don't know - painful castration.
Hm.
Oh don't give me that look, you know I wouldn't actually let him get hurt on purpose. If bad weather, an angry crowd or - I don't know, meteorites - threaten to fall, we'll go and get him. But this is politics, and let's be honest, it'll be good for him to not have his ass saved every time. I told you not to worry about it.
Hm.
Maybe that'll cure his depressing habit of sticking his dick in all the wrong places. And you know I'm right, Geralt.
*
It was really uncomfortable. If he'd known it would end like this, he'd have gone to bed with a nightcap and that would have been it. Instead, half an hour of quite forgettable but enjoyable trysts had finished with him with his head and hands locked in the stocks, and a fine drizzle chilling the air and dampening his hair. Not only was it uncomfortable, it was extremely humiliating. Locking up a fine bard, an artist, like himself like that! Who did they think they were?! He certainly wouldn't give them a good name in the next ballad he wrote! And were they really serious? Spending the whole night like that? He was already getting cramps in his legs, and his back was starting to ache.
With a grunt, Jaskier tried to move a bit, to get the aches to move to another part of his body. Had he seen Yennefer in the crowd when they'd brought him here? He was certain he had, there was no mistaking that face. He'd seen her, she'd definitely seen him, and she wasn't moving a finger to save him. Gods damn that bloody witch! Yes he was testy and probably nastier than he should be but he was cold and wet and he just wanted someone to get him out of this fucking contraption! Fuck it!
At least the rain was keeping people away from where he was, he'd had his fill of getting rotten vegetables and eggs thrown at him... With a bit of luck, there wouldn't be anyone around until dawn, moment where the voivode would lift the punishment, and where he could just get out of here.
He was just starting to feel the tension in his shoulders start to shift when a sound came from behind him. Of course he couldn't see what it was, but he was certain that it was an idiot from one of the taverns, who had braved the damp, the dark and the cold to come and jeer at a chained-up man.
- Alright, ha ha, throw your tomato or whatever, and get out of here.
There was no answer, why would there be one?
- Look, just get it over with and let me get drenched in peace... I'm no longer welcome in your town, I've already gotten pelted with fruit and vegetables and other more odorant earthly things, I smell of the worst manure pit known to man, so just fuck off.
No answer, no noise, and he managed to relax a little. Whoever the person was, he'd gone. And all Jaskier had to do was wait another eight or nine hours. Perhaps he'd be able to sleep standing up, like horses did, like he'd seen Geralt do on more than one occasion. Maybe he should have asked about that meditation business, it seemed to help the hours fly by...
The noise came again, closer this time, and Jaskier tensed up again. Right, this time it was most probably children who'd escaped parental surveillance and wanted to play with what was obviously the most interesting thing to happen to this town in years. And then he heard it, clearer this time. A low growl, something that made all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. What was that? There were no monsters around here, not even the most ridiculous small back-water village in bumfuck nowhere would risk lives for humiliating punishment. But still, something was out there.
He craned his neck trying to scan the darkness around him, but all he could see was just that : darkness. Until the sound came right next to his ear and he stiffened. Right there, *right there*, he could see the glowing yellow eyes of what looked like the biggest wolf he'd ever seen. And it looked hungry...or maybe just angry.
- Get lost...get lost...get lost...get lost...
He was repeating the words like a magic spell, hoping the wolf would just get tired and leave. And slowly the beast moved out of sight...and rounded behind him.
Two thoughts occured to Jaskier in the same exact second. The first was that, somewhere in the past, Geralt had told him that no natural animal had glowing eyes. And second was that the wolf-man, the lycan, the fucking werewolf, was behind him and that he couldn't even move.
A third and final thought dissolved into sheer panic
*
- Don't - don't do that - !! Get off me!
It wasn't going to work, he knew it but he couldn't help it. The werewolf was pawing at him, his weight heavy on his back, his breath hot on the back of his neck. Jaskier was internally screaming (or not so internally) and no matter how he struggled, he couldn't get his hands free from the pillory. And how would that help anyway, when his fucking head was still stuck? And now the werewolf was - what was he doing exactly? If he'd wanted to eat him, wouldn't he be trapped in steel jaws at this point? So what in the name of Melitele's divine ass was happening?
Right, right, right... he might not be eaten, but...
Oh shit...
Oh *fuck*
Was that - was that the werewolf's - ? Oh fuck, it was...The werewolf was fucking *grinding* against him, what the fuck?!
- Get *off* me! Get *off* you fucking - you fucking monster!
But the more he fought, the more the paws around his waist held him tight, and the tighter they held him, the tenser Jaskier became. He didn't want to think about what was going to happen, but when the lycan growled just next to his ear, he was certain that he was going to piss himself where he stood.
- Get off me... Don't do this, get off me...!
But the bite of the cold spring air on the back of his thighs snapped him out of what he was saying, and he stiffened even more. Fuck, this was actually going to happen. Fuck fuck fuck...!
It was the subject of many a rawdy song, the young, blushing maiden who met a monster in the woods and came back to her village wiser in the ways of the world. Many monsters were said to come from such meetings, and in some ways, it was explainable by ways of primal needs to breed. But in case the idiotic werewolf behind him lacked a certain amount of brain, Jaskier was certainly not a young, blushing maiden! The beast must have had something wrong with it, and anyway, Jaskier wasn't going to get out of this. Right...right...calm down Jaskier...calm down... Struggling wouldn't help, all it might end up doing was getting him torn to shreds for his efforts. Calling for help obviously wasn't going to do anything, the people here seemed quite content with letting him die. So he grit his teeth, prayed to whatever gods watched over poets in stupid situations, and closed his eyes. With a bit of good luck, it would be over fast.
At first, all he could feel was the pressure mounting, the tiny humming in his ears, the sharp white sliver of pain from the claws that were digging into his waist. He even blinked, unsure of what what really happening, wondering if -
And then -
Godsfuckingdammitwhatthefuck-! It hurt, it hurt it hurt it hurt...! The werewolf was crushing his back, its hot, heavy breath burning the back of his neck, its fucking, leaking *cock* straining against him. It strained and it strained and it pushed its way into him with a sick, wet sound.
There was no way he could help it, he screamed. He screamed in fear and in panic, and the werewolf growled in answer, ripping further into him. If the monster hadn't already been ready to burst, the semen dripping out of him like a rudimentary lubricant, Jaskier would have fainted from the pain.
How could no-one hear him?! How could the noise not attract anyone?! The guards, the voivode, anyone...?! And *Yennefer*?! He'd *seen* Yennefer, he knew he had, where the fuck was she?! He was by himself, he had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
- Get - get out! Get out of me! You fucking - fucking monster!!
His voice was strained, crushed as he was against the wood of the pillory; if his arms hadn't been restrained, he'd have fallen to the ground with the brute force the werewolf was showing.
And then...it paused, Jaskier could hear it sniffing the air. Maybe - just maybe - it had been spooked by something and would leave him alone and then all that would be a nightmare. But when a second growl came out from the darkness, he froze.
The second werewolf was larger than the first, and just as violent. It snarled and grabbed the first lycan, pulling it away from the poet. Jaskier felt the throbbing cock rip out of him and the noise he made was most definitely of pain and surprise and...
*fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck no fuck no fuck no...!!!*
He could feel liquid seep down his thighs, and an acid taste fill his mouth. And when the second werewolf slammed into him, he closed his eyes and a startled moan shot past his lips. It was so *big*, so thick he could hardly breathe right, he could feel it almost up to his chest, hitting him again and again and again. With each thrust he felt that cock open him more and more, and Jaskier tensed up his back, easing up as much as he could, trying to fucking breathe. He kept his eyes closed, trying to concentrate on something else, anything else. Slowly, slowly, he managed to stay the rhythm and his breathing came easier...and by all the demons in hell, he felt himself harden.
*
He was so hard, he could feel his own arousal rub against what was left of his trousers. Each time the werewolf moved inside him, his already bruised skin chafed and rubbed against the fabric and all he could do was moan in answer. It was disgusting, it was humiliating and it felt...*so fucking good* and he hated every second.
- Fuck....*fuck*...oh gods, don't...!
He'd forgotten the first werewolf. He shouldn't have. Because as soon as he'd opened his mouth to speak - pray - beg - whatever - the lycan he'd forgotten moved in front of him and grabbed his head with his paws. Jaskier tried to move but of course, the pillory blocked any attempt and before he could do anything, the werewolf forced his mouth open and rammed its still-leaking dick into his throat.
It was...it was vile...! It tasted of coarse salt, and the sticky, warm liquid was lumpy and he *couldn't fucking breathe*! He was so terrified, so scared and so helpless. He was all alone, all alone and trapped between them, both of them holding onto him and filling him up so roughly that he just wanted to scream...! He wanted to scream from the pain and the terror and the *pleasure* all rolled into one... And his mind...wandered... He concentrated on the golden eyes of the lycans. On their snow-white colour. On the paws - hands - holding him down, raising him up and fucking him over and over again.
And his mind...wandered...wandered into darker paths of his own soul. The parts he liked to keep secret. The parts he was scared of admitting. If only it was another sort of white wolf with golden eyes that was pounding him... If only it was *Geralt*...! If only it was Geralt fucking him...ripping into him...holding him down and filling him with his seed...ravishing every part of him...
He was grunting around the cock in his mouth, small pleading noises escaping from his throat and his hands wrapped tight around long grey-white fur. And finally - finally - the werewolf filled his mouth with hot, slimy juice, still fucking his mouth and forcing him to gulp it down or choke. So he did, he drank all he could, retching and coughing when his mouth was finally free.
- G...gods... ! Stop...stop it... Stop it, I... I can't...!
He could still feel the other werewolf deep in him. It had already filled him twice - the warm liquid running down his legs and the heaviness in his stomach was proof of that - but it was still going.
- Stop it! Stop it, please! I'm begging you, stop it!! I can't - I can't stand it...! Please! Please, someone! *Anyone*!
The last thrust from the werewolf was the hardest yet, but only because it wasn't able to control anything without a head. It had come clean off, cut through with a single slice from a silver sword. Jaskier saw the flash in the other lycan's eyes, saw it tense up and try to run, but then the whole overwhelming experience washed over him and he fell into darkness.
*
He was so comfortable, bathed in light and warmth. He could vaguely hear noises - voices - but he didn't want to listen just now, he was content with simply floating. He was so comfortable...so comfortable...
*
Let him sleep, he needs it.
Hm.
He'll be fine after -
He won't be, Yen. You can't say he'll be fine. I should have gone to get him.
You didn't know.
I should have gone to get him!
Geralt ran a hand through Jaskier's still-wet hair. Yennefer had bathed him and together they'd tended the most obvious of the wounds, and then all they could do was wait. Yennefer had cast spells to help the healing and although she'd tried to get Geralt to go to sleep, he'd refused. So instead, she'd come out with mugs of hot milk and had sat next to him on the bed, and now they were both waiting.
He'll heal. Physically, anyway. Just give it time.
Did they know there were werewolves here? Did they know that they risked his life?
I don't believe they did. But who cares, I'll find a way to thank them.
Her tone was icy, and Geralt looked up from Jaskier's pale face to study her.
You'd wreak chaos on them? For him? You don't even like him that much, you said so.
I don't. But you do. You like him a lot, Geralt.
Of course he did. He'd never denied it. He could have gotten rid of Jaskier a thousand times over the years they'd known each-other, but he'd let him follow him around, sing his songs, make a name for himself with ballads and love-songs about the White Wolf and all his adventures. He liked Jaskier, and to see him in this state, when he could have saved him.... Jaskier might never forgive him for this.
And then Yen spoke, seeing the distress in his mind.
Since when has he ever blamed you for anything?
Hm.
Let him sleep, Geralt. Come to bed, and tomorrow...tomorrow you'll tell him.