#anyways enjoy the latest installment of jaskier whump the series

[hannibard]

"I'm choking from the taste (but I can't help but swallow)"

Chapter 4: Brutal Punishment

Summary: Jaskier is summoned by Radovid and is served a cruel punishment for his mistake.

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When Jaskier was 13, he started getting closer to the stablehand, who was a few years older than him. He used to skip his lessons just to meet up with the boy, and they spent hours chatting about anything and everything, and the more Julian got to know him, the more a strange desire for him grew. He had only ever had crushes on girls before and it took him a while to realize that what he felt for the stable hand wasn’t much different, but when he did, he wasted no time in making a move.

It was late afternoon and they were huddled together in an empty stall in the stables. The hay pressing on young Julian’s back felt softer than the most high quality eiderdown when their lips touched for the first and last time, and the faint sunbeams peaking through the cracks on the hardwood wall lit up the space just enough for him to be able to see the other’s flushed face. It was a magical moment that ended all too soon.

After a servant caught them in the act they hastily informed the Viscount, who came and dragged Julian back to the manor by the hair and proceeded to give him the beating of his life once they were safely behind closed doors.

What under different circumstances would have become a fond memory for Jaskier to look back on ended up becoming lifelong nightmare fuel.

What he was feeling presently wasn’t dissimilar to the all-encompassing dread that once filled him as he stared at his father’s furious face. His breath was coming in short as cold sweat clammed up his entire body.

“Rad- Y-your majesty, this isn’t-“

Radovid raised his hand in a swift motion and Jaskier took the hint and shut up.

The king stared at him for a long moment that felt like it lasted hours when it was probably just a minute or two, his lips pressed in a firm line, before turning his gaze towards Blade, who was looking down at the floor with their hands clasped together behind their back, posture rigid.

“You.” Radovid addressed them at last. “Follow me. Julian, you are to remain in your quarters until you’re summoned.” He said and started walking away towards his office. Blade didn’t spare Jaskier a single glance as they hurried to obey.

Jaskier stayed frozen in place until both of them were out of sight and then didn’t wait a second longer before entering his room and slamming the door shut behind him. He leaned against it as he slowly slid to the floor.

He sat there for a long time, with his eyes pressed shut and his hands pulling at his hair as he tried to calm his hyperventilating with some simple breathing exercises. Despite what his father had said when Jaskier had voiced his ambitions, his chosen profession could be unexpectedly useful. 

How could I have been so stupid?

Things with Radovid were already strained enough as it were, but, maybe due to some lingering sentiment, the king hadn’t subjected him to any actual punishment after the bard’s little show of defiance- save for the forceful nature of their bedroom activities that had lost any pretense of mutual consent. Jaskier doubted that would be the case this time.

The room was dark and he could barely see anything, no matter how much his vision had adjusted since he entered, but he had trouble dealing with fire on a good day so lighting a candle in this situation wasn’t even worth considering. Once he felt stable enough, he got up and made his way to an armchair where he discarded his doublet and vest before throwing himself to the bed face down.

It was big enough that when he turned his face to the side he could pretend Geralt was laying right next to him, sharing a bed like they’d done so many times before while on the Path. But, like mere moments ago in the hallway, when he reached out his hand empty space was the only thing waiting for him. At some point he must have dozed off because he was startled awake early next morning by a few hard consecutive knocks on the door. A guard’s voice followed soon after.

“Lord Pankratz, the king has demanded your presence at once. Please make haste.”

Jaskier tentatively entered the luxurious throne room, whose decoration featured a massive crystal chandelier and intricate tapestries covering the walls, which was uncharacteristically empty save for the king and the two knights that flanked him. Curiously, blankets and cushions of various sizes were strewn across the floor. Blade was nowhere to be seen but Jaskier had suspected as much.

He didn’t dare look Radovid as he went to the middle of the room and kneeled in a show of submission that he hoped would somewhat mollify the king, before steeling himself to take the liberty and talk first.

“Your Majesty, what happened yesterday was but a mere accident! You see, I was heavily inebriated and I didn’t have the mind to think straight. It led me to unfortunately resort to old habits, which are known to be hard to die. I beseech you to show mercy.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt pride at the fact that his voice didn’t shake, yet another use of his “waste” of a profession.

There was a long, charged silence before Radovid finally responded.

“Old habits you say. Is it your debaucherous reputation that you’re referring to?”

Jaskier gulped. “Yes your Majesty.”

Radovid hummed. “Interesting. Well, to be honest, while pondering on what your motive could’ve been for such insolence, I arrived at the exact same conclusion.”

Jaskier blinked rapidly and looked up at the king, not expecting that in the slightest. “I-Is that so?”

Radovid stood from his golden, jewel encrusted throne and motioned for his knights to stay put as he walked down the carpeted marble stairs. He came to a halt in front of Jaskier, his expression unreadable. He extended a hand towards the bard and helped him up just as a servant appeared, carrying a tray with a silver goblet.

The king took the goblet and handed it to the bard, who had no choice but to take a large sip under Radovid’s expectant gaze. It was some sort of high quality red wine that left a familiar bittersweet aftertaste, though Jaskier couldn’t quite place what that was.

“Indeed. I should have taken better account of your personality before bringing you here. I promised to give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of while neglecting your infamous disregard for monogamy. It’s no wonder you took matters into your own hands to fullfil such core needs. But worry not my sweet, I’ve taken measures to correct this oversight.” He said and went to sit back on his throne, settling comfortably with his elbow perched on an armrest and the side of his head laying on his fist.

The bard’s mind was reeling, confusion evident on his face that quickly switched to horror as various scantily dressed nobles, some of whom he recognized from banquets, entered the room from the side doors and made their way towards him with hungry expressions. Suddenly it hit him. The aftertaste from the drink was pomegranate, an ingredient frequently used in aphrodisiacs.

He tried taking a few steps back but whatever was used to spike the wine was potent and he was already feeling dizzy, so he stumbled and fell to the floor, landing on a large cushion, whose intended use he just realized. By then a middle-aged couple had reached him and they wasted no time by pawing at his garments.

Jaskier tried to resist, or at least voice his objection, but it was like his limbs had turned to goo and he had little control over his tongue so he could only sit there and make high-pitched keening sounds. With the last of his will he turned to desperately look at Radovid, who was watching him with a perverse sort of excitement and showed no sign of budging despite the bard’s pleading gaze.

His eyes were ripped away from the king as the man from the couple grabbed Jaskier’s face and turned it towards him. He and his wife had succeeded in removing his clothes, with the rest of their brethren having joined them and already touching him all over. Despite his disgust at the situation, Jaskier felt relief from their touches because his body was burning hot and the feeling of need that overtook him was bordering on painful.

The man maintained his grasp of the bard’s face as he used his other hand to untie the front of his breeches and pull himself out. Jaskier sobbed, big fat tears streaming down his cheeks, and closed his eyes as the noble fed him his cock with a quick thrust that made him gag.

Whenever Jaskier found himself in trouble, Geralt was there to save him more often than not, but no matter how much he wished for the witcher to come to his aid at the moment, he knew it was a lost cause. And even though he had stopped believing in any sort of deity a long time ago, when his instructors at temple school first started using corporal punishment on him, he couldn't help but pray with all he had as a last resort for this situation to stop.

Predictably, no one listened.