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kell-be-belle · 2 years

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All That Counts Now

An extremely indulgent ficlet that I wrote with the fervor of a madman even though I have so many other things I should be doing, however, I knew I could not rest until I had gotten it out of my system. So here it is, inspired by @spielzeugkaiser and their Omegaverse!Geraskier AU. The original post can be found here and the particular piece that inspired me can be found here.

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Rating: Teen

Warnings: A/B/O, mildly suggestive language, mentions of past Mpreg

****

The fire burned low in the hearth. Combined with a smattering of candles, the room was rife with shadows dancing and writhing over its damp stone walls. The pungent scent of woodsmoke was not enough to cover up the undercurrent of arousal that wafted tantalizing through the air like a beckoning hand. The bear skin rug was plush under Geralt’s bare feet as he crossed to the hearth, to the man standing before it wreathed in the halo of its glow. Jaskier was staring pensively into the flames, arms wrapped tight around his chest. Geralt could see where the sweat glistened at his temples, where it had begun to curl the fine hair at the nape of his neck. The scent of arousal came from him, blooming sweet and milky from his skin with an irresistible decadence. Jaskier’s heat was imminent. By the time the night was through, Geralt had no doubt he would be caught full in the throes of it.

Jaskier did not flinch as Geralt came up behind him, long since accustomed to sensing him despite the quiet of his movements. He did not look at Geralt either, eyes still trained on the snap and sway of the flames as they consumed the wood with fervor. Geralt moistened his lips, collecting himself before he muttered, “Are you sure about this?” It had been fifteen years since they had last spent a heat together. Just before the dragon hunt, just before Jaskier had vanished without a trace to raise the child they had miraculously conceived.

With a shuddering breath, Jaskier whispered, “I believe so.” It was not the confidence Geralt had been hoping for, but he was hardly surprised given their history.

“I’ll be here if you want me, but if you’re not ready for this I understand.”

Laughing bitterly, Jaskier replied, “It’ll hardly matter in a few hours. I’ll be too incoherent to know what it is I want.”

Geralt pressed his lips into a thin line, concerned by Jaskier’s callous demeanor. Geralt reached out a hand to touch Jaskier then drew it back, hesitant. Things between them were still tenuous, but the fact that they had even made it this far felt like a testament to the lengths both of them were willing to go in the hopes of rekindling the love they once shared. Jaskier would not have asked him here without serious thought. Emboldened by this, Geralt lifted his hand again and rested it gently on the curve of Jaskier’s shoulder. His skin was warm beneath Geralt’s palm, the fever of his impending heat steadily growing like the heat of the day with the rise of the sun.

“Jaskier,” He whispered, low and tender, “I love you and I want to take care of you, but if this isn’t something you’re ready for then I will do everything in my power to make you as comfortable as possible without invading your boundaries.”

Jaskier was quiet for a time, his shapely teeth worrying at the skin of his lower lip. And Geralt waited, heart constricted in his chest, for Jaskier to mull over his answer. “I’m afraid.” He said at last, blurted as if he had been struggling to make the admission.

Swallowing hard, Geralt croaked, “What that you’ll…” Geralt couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, but Jaskier was not so squeamish.

“Get pregnant again? No, I think those years are beyond me now.” Which may or may not have been true since Jaskier was somewhat on the cusp in age. “No, no I’m afraid you…” He paused again, his arms tightening in their fold across his chest. His fingers bunching in the soft linen of his sleeves.

Leaning forward, Geralt pressed a light kiss to the nape of Jaskier’s neck, “Tell me Jaskier. I promise I’ll do whatever I can.”

“I’m afraid you’ll find me much changed, witcher mine.” He laughed as he said it, but there was clearly no humor behind it. Geralt knew it as a defense mechanism. A reflex of Jaskier’s that was meant to dissolve tension. Upon seeing Geralt’s puzzled expression, Jaskier elaborated, “It’s been some years since last we were intimate. I’ve grown older, I’ve been through… tribulations. I’m afraid that you’ll find my body much changed and that you may not like what you see.”

Geralt’s heart twisted hot and fierce in his chest, “That doesn’t matter to me, Jaskier,” He asserted, perhaps with more ferocity than was intended judging by the jump of Jaskier’s shoulders. Geralt collected himself with a breath before he continued, “There is nothing I could be less concerned about than how you look. Gods know I’ve changed myself, new aches, new scars-”

“New beard.” Jaskier laughed, a soft, breathy thing that sounded far more genuine than the one from before. “I rather like it, I think it makes you look distinguished.”

Geralt chuckled, “Doesn’t make me look old?”

“I think mature is a better word.”

“So it does make me look old, got it. I’ll shave it off first thing tomorrow morning.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Declared Jaskier hautighly. And they laughed, heads pressed close together. The knot in Geralt’s chest loosened, relieved to see Jaskier acting more like himself.

Resting his chin in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, Geralt spoke, “I love you, no matter what. I’m just happy to be here with you again.” That you let me be here with you, he added to himself.

Jaskier raised a hand and smoothed the back of his knuckles over Geralt’s cheek, “I’m happy, too, dear heart. We’ve a lot of lost time to make up for.” Indeed they did.

Stepping closer to the hearth, Jaskier turned to face Geralt. He gathered the hem of his shirt in his grasp, lifting it the barest inch. He looked to Geralt, his eyes wide and searching for something, anything, to serve as encouragement. Geralt took a step towards Jaskier. He laid his hands over Jaskier’s and smiled in a way he hoped conveyed confidence. It seemed to work well enough and together, the two of them lifted Jaskier’s shirt until it was over his head where it then fluttered to the floor behind them.

The skin of Jaskier’s body was much the same, but softer around the edges. The sharp angles of his youth smoothed down by time and a comfortable living. It was not unpleasant, not in the slightest, and Geralt could not fathom why Jaskier would care for such a thing. Vain as he was in regards to himself, Jaskier had always looked upon Geralt’s scarred, battle-worn body and assured him he was perfect as he was. Jaskier had traced his fingers against every seam of puckered skin and pressed his lips into every cleft as if they were things to be revered. It was a kindness he should have extended to himself.

Geralt’s eyes traveled down, over the smattering of dark hair over Jaskier’s supple chest as it spread down over his sternum and to his belly and- oh. Oh. Geralt felt his heart twist at the sight. Where Jaskier’s belly had always been firm and lean, now a distinctive paunch sat in the bracket of his hips. The skin around his navel was puckered slightly and following the curve of his lower belly were streaks of pink skin that branched like bolts of lightning. Stretch marks, Geralt thought belatedly, that is what they were called.

Guilt opened up in the pit of Geralt’s like a void. It threatened to pull him into its empty depths, to sink its taloned fingers into his flesh and hold like a wild and desperate animal. The line of hair that had once trailed over Jaskier’s belly and disappeared into the hem braies was gone now. Geralt could remember all the times he had pressed kisses to it. Followed the length of it down, down, down until he could press his mouth hot and damp against Jaskier’s sex. It was a loss, but one that was infinitesimally small and foolish in comparison to what Geralt had truly lost.

Jaskier shifted his weight from one foot to the other, squirming like a butterfly pinned under Geralt’s scrutiny. “I managed to lose most of the weight after I gave birth, but there was some I just couldn’t seem to rid myself of no matter how I tried.” Jaskier muttered, his voice tight like the words were fighting their way up his throat. “I could have done something about the stretch marks, but, at the time, it had seemed frivolous to spend what coin I had on things like cocoa butter or oils. I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done about it now.”

In Geralt’s responding silence, Jaskier’s hands came up to rest on his sagging belly. He laced his fingers tightly together like the ribbons of a corset, holding the soft skin and covering the worst of the stretch marks as if they were something shameful. Something ugly. And that could not have been any further from the truth.

Wordlessly, Geralt fell to his knees before Jaskier. Whether it was voluntary or simply the forsaking of his strength, Geralt was not really sure, but here he was nonetheless. Jaskier grew still as stone. Like a statue. The kind that sat entangled in rose gardens or perched atop burbling fountains, beautiful and otherworldly. Geralt took Jaskier’s hips between his hands, brushed his thumbs over the edges of his pelvis where the bone sat just under the skin.

This was the belly that had grown their child. Their son. Housed and nourished him and borne him safely unto the world and into the fierce and loving embrace of his Papa. Only his Papa. And Geralt felt stuck by the overwhelming loss that he had not been there. By the guilt that Jaskier had gone through all of it alone, every joyous and arduous moment. It tore through him raw and merciless and though the pain of it felt unendurable, Geralt knew it was nothing in comparison to Jaskier. Geralt had wandered the continent in ignorance, while Jaskier had carried all the burden in his heart like a stone.

Leaning forward, Geralt pressed his face into Jaskier’s belly just beside his navel. He tried to imagine what it could have been like had things been different. Had he been there to watch Jaskier’s belly swell, feel the babe as it moved inside him, supported him through every bright day and endless night. But it was too late, too late for all of that now. Nothing more than daydreams and wishful thinking as intangible and immaterial as starlight. It was true, Geralt was here now and he was doing what he could as recompense, but so much had been lost. So much, so much, so much.

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s hips, held him hard and fierce in his embrace. The crooked angle of his nose pressing into Jaskier’s belly could not have been comfortable, but he made no move to push Geralt away. Jaskier’s scent was still the sweet and milky thing it had been, but underneath it Geralt caught the sharp tang of salt. Geralt had long ago lost his ability to cry, though gods knew he would have if only he could, which left no doubt that it was Jaskier who had begun shedding tears. And that only made Geralt hold him tighter, the blunt ends of his fingers digging deep into the soft flesh of Jaskier’s hips.

Jaskier lifted a hand and began to card his fingers through Geralt’s hair with a soft and steady touch. Though his voice was thick with emotion he crooned, “Ssh, it’s alright dear heart. All is well, now. All is well.” And Geralt feels like he should be embarrassed that Jaskier is comforting him when he is not the one that suffered so greatly, yet he cannot bring himself to move even a single inch.

After a time, Jaskier wriggles his hips a bit, loosening Geralt’s grasp around them. He sinks to his knees so that he can be on the same level as Geralt. Jaskier’s eyes are rimmed with red. His cheeks are damp and sticky with tears. And yet still he smiles when he looks upon Geralt with all the benevolence of a saint. He takes Geralt’s face within the bracket of his palms, presses a chaste kiss to his lips and Geralt can taste the salt of his tears on the tip of his tongue. Jaskier withdraws, but not so much that their foreheads cannot touch, their noses cannot brush.

“It’s alright,” He whispers once more and whether it’s for Geralt or for them both, he is no longer sure. Again he whispers, “It’s alright, we’re here now and that’s all that counts now.”

#the witcher #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #Jaskier #Geralt of Rivia #omegaverse #omega!jaskier #alpha!geralt #fanficiton #hurt/comfort #angst #spielzeugkaiser

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holylulusworld · 1 month

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Broken Rose (1)

Summary: He may have stolen your kingdom and freedom – but he’ll never own your heart. Right?

Pairing: Alpha!Geralt of Rivia x Queen(Omega)!Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of forced/arranged marriage trope, a/b/o, magic, light smut, unprotected sex, mating, claiming, forced proximity, I’ll label this dub-con (just in case)

Broken Rose masterlist

Broken Rose (Prologue)

He’s like a fever dream coming over you and your kingdom. All of your knights have fallen under his spell. Robbed of their will and honor by his dark powers.

Your sword and armor lie abandoned on the ground. Just like your crown. It’s broken, like your heart and pride. You lost. The battle. Your kingdom. Your freedom.

And now, you lost a part of yourself too because you allowed Geralt to strip you bare and take you to bed.

It’s not an unknown feeling having this man inside of your body. You did it many times, unbeknownst by your father, the former king, and your knights.

He stole your innocence and heart years ago – when you were still a foolish girl believing in love and fairytales. You believed that you could marry the man you love when you become queen.

Your mind runs wild while he ravishes not only your body but your soul too. Geralt is all-consuming and undefeatable. Not only in battle but between your thighs too.

He enchanted you with his soft kisses and sweet promises reminding you of a different time. A time in which you were hopelessly in love with the Witcher conquering your kingdom and cunt.

You had no choice but to surrender. Not only in battle but in the bedroom too. Your omega, and body gave in, but the queen did not.

You’re buying your time by letting him claim your body for the time being. “You’re mine, say it,” he purrs against your throat, lips nipping at your untouched mating gland. “Say it.”

Clawing at his back you ignore the tingling in your core. It’s been too long without him, but he still remembers how to make your body pliant. “No.”

“Say my name, my queen,” his thrusts become more demanding, and the bed starts to creak at the effort he puts into forcing pleasure on your body.

The headboard slams into the wall, and for the first time, you are grateful your knights are still under his spell.

You should be ashamed that you are close to an orgasm while your people are robbed of their free will.

“Say my name,” he growls against your throat. “Now!”

“No! We are not even married, and you just took me to bed,” you snarl at him. “You ruined me. How dare you take a queen like that.”

He laughs against your throat. “My rose, I plugged your blossom years ago,” Geralt playfully says. He gets impossible faster and grips your legs to throw them over his shoulders.

“No…I can’t…” you shake your head and press your hands against his chest. You are forced to stare at Geralt as he pushes his cock inside of your cunt as deep as possible with every thrust.

“You can and will let go for me,” his eyes glow in the dim light of your bedroom. He tilts his head, tempted to take your free will from you too. “Now! This cunt will squeeze me and take my knot.”

“I hate you,” you whimper the words. Your body surrendered a long time ago, and all you can do is let go and clench tightly around his cock. “Why?”

“Because you are mine,” he growls and drops your legs to cover your trembling body. His teeth sink into your mating gland. You cry out in pleasured pain, whimpering as you come undone once again. “We are married by my rules for years.”

The bond is already forming, and you sniffle because there is no escaping him now. Endorphins float your whole body and take away all of your fears for a moment.

Geralt’s knot swells deep within you. He growls your name, and paws at your body. The alpha lifts his head to watch your face contort in pleasure.

“You’ll have my knot and heir tonight. I made you my queen and mate. Forever.”

“Forever,” your eyes flutter shut, and you refuse to open them again. Your body got conquered, but your strong will is a different story.

“Y/N, stop fighting fate,” Geralt growls in your ear. He has you underneath him, his knot still locked inside of your body. The second time he mated with you he wanted you on your hands and knees. Simply to tame you and show you who is in charge.

He didn’t think you’d kick, scratch, and bite him before he got the chance to get his cock back inside of you. Geralt had no choice but to mount you like an animal to get what he wanted.

Submission never was your style and never will be.

“Fate?” You snarl. “This isn’t fate. You attacked my kingdom and used magic to win the battle. You forced your mark on me and talked about fate?”

“We were meant to be from the beginning,” he whispers lowly. “Stop fighting me, and I’ll set your knights free. Give in to me, my queen and I’ll be your loyal king and mate.”

“As if you’d let my knights go,” you huff. “I’ll never be your queen or mate. Only because you pushed your knot inside of me doesn’t mean I’m yours.”

Geralt smirks at your words. You’re a strong-willed woman. Undefeatable and angry. That’s what he always liked about you. The alpha chose you as his mate to have an equal partner, not a submissive and meek omega by his side.

“We will talk about your behavior in the morning,” he wraps his arms tighter around your body. “Maybe I need to use my magic on your cunt too. Oh, I forgot. You’re already wet for me all the time.”

You grit your teeth. It’s not your fault that your body gives in to your instinct. Geralt’s scent is driving you crazy, and there is nothing you can do to fight it.

“I dare you!” You snap at him. “Don’t get too comfortable in my bed and kingdom. I’ll get rid of you soon enough.”

“No. You won’t,” he whispers in your ear. “You’re a beautiful but broken rose. No one stands by your side. You’re all alone and only have me left. Give in, and I’ll give you everything you can wish for.”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #alpha!geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x you #female reader #a/b/o #Broken Rose (1)#the witcher fanfiction

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krscblw · 5 months

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i found a few sketch pages i did back in january, so here's one of them

lyrics: the chariot - aether realm // bodysnatchers 4 ever - leathermouth // jigolo har megiddo - ghost // the patron saint of liars and fakes - fall out boy // con clavi con dio - ghost // the master butcher's apron - carcass // butcher's hook - slipknot

#this was so long ago i don't remember which ghoul it is #probably ifrit? possibly alpha?#image description in alt text #the band ghost #ghost bc #fanart #era 3 ghouls #ghost fanart #the band ghost fanart #nameless ghouls #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia fanart #the witcher fanart #tw blood #tw bones #sketch page

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trixter-god · 2 years

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I have made a terrible revelation about myself

#daemon targaryen #legolas #lucius malfoy #draco malfoy #the goblin king #joseph christiansen #dirk strider #dave strider #alpha dave #geralt of rivia #albert wesker #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #astarion #philip graves #homelander #bro strider #kakashi hatake

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dragonsandwolvesohmy · 9 months

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Am I insane or was there something where Witcher Omegas had scents like metal sparks or something, and human omegas generally didn't, but then Jaskier! The only one the Wolves have met with the scent like an omega witcher.

Found! The Heat In Your Skin by round_robin. It is locked to only those with ao3 accounts.

Special thanks to @i-m-weak-my-love for finding it!!!

#witchersexual jaskier #omega jaskier #jaskier #alpha geralt #geralt of rivia #geraskier #jaskier x witchers #lost fic #or #lost post #the witcher

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eskelsgirl · 21 days

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Labour?

(Title is still in the works) This is just a brief prologue. With an abrupt ending. Main pairing: Geraskier, Side pairings: Vesemir/Original Male Character, Eskel/Original Female character. Tags: Alpha/Omega/Beta au, canon divergence, arrange marriage -kind of? Vesemir looks down, unimpressed at the young omega at his feet, even less so at the omega’s beta ‘father’ that put him there. Male omegas were as rare as alpha females, unheard of but not impossible. The boy wasn’t a tiny thing like his omega; he was all limbs and about as tall as his oldest, with no hips to speak of. This wasn’t the first time men have tried to sell their unwanted children off to the witchers to pay their debts. But Vesemir already had enough pups and wasn’t looking for another.

“And what am I to do with him?” Vesemir asks, looking back up at the court. “He’s no child surprise, far too old for the mutations to take.” The beta growls a low warning, which is unimpressive, but Vesemir doesn’t allow the challenge to go unpunished. Growling back louder, a vicious snarl that sends the beta aback. A fraction of a movement caught Vesemir’s eyes: a young girl hanging off the skirts of her maid. The red swollen mark on her cheek would soon become a proper bruise. She was a timid thing, holding on to a well-cared-for doll. “She’ll do,” Vesemir says, his eyes narrowing on the girl. "She’ll make a fine playmate for my youngest.” “No!” The forgotten omega at his feet snaps, grasping Vesemir’s arm, pulling attention back onto him. “You will not touch her.” Cornflower blue meets harden amber, the first time Vesemir had seen the omega’s eyes full of defiance. The pieces clicked; maybe he would have a use for this omega after all. “Very well, then,” Vesemir shacks his arm out of the boy’s grasp. “I’ll take the omega off your hands, as well as his dowry.” “Dowry!” The beta yells, “Yes, if he is to mate one of my sons, a dowry is to be paid,” Vesemir explains, taking the time to now circle around the omega. “Then again, you are trying to cheat your way out of a 1,000 crown contract. You must not even have a dowry for your children.” A few snickers meet Vesemir’s ears, it seems someone else was enjoying the look of humiliation on the Lord’s face. After that, getting the dowry, a horse for the omega, and a bag of his belongings didn't take much convincing. “Go witcher.” The lord sneered, “Do not expect a warm welcome again.” —------- It was a long ride to where ever the Witcher alpha was taking him. While Jaskier was pleased to be away from his father, he will dearly miss his little sister and hope she will be safe without him there to protect her. The alpha didn’t speak much or at all, only deeming him worthy of conversation to command when to rest, eat, and water the horses. Jaskier wasn’t good at silence, so he spent most of the time lost in his head, humming songs or speaking softly to himself. He had made it through most of Hannelore Varidil’s epic poem, which he had memorized years ago. When they had stopped in a village outside of Kaedwen after weeks of camping outside, Jaskier was ready for a real bed, even if it was filled with straw. The Witcher dismounted effortlessly, while Jaskier still hadn’t mastered it. Once his feet touched solid ground, a young boy quickly gathered the reins in exchange for a few coins. “Come.” One-word commands. It seems that all the conversation Jaskier will ever have. Vesemir leads him to some form of market, stalls set up near two established buildings, the inn, and a tailor. Assuming they were heading for the inn, Jaskier didn’t think much but walked forward, only to be stopped by Vesemir. “Finally going to sell me then?” Jaskier couldn’t help the quip as it left his mouth. Then, he braced himself for a smack that never came, only a chuckle. “Not worth the hassle.” Vesemir answered, “They’ll probably arrest me for kidnapping.” “Fair. So what are we doing?” “Shopping.” Vesemir turned to the nearest stall, selling vegetables, and moved on before finding a traveling merchant with what he needed. “A master Witcher,” the merchant smiled. Vesemir didn’t need his secondary gender to tell him what he needed from the man. The Distaste was obvious, but he wouldn't turn down a paying customer.

“A blue Opal pendant to match your omega’s beautiful eyes.” The pendant was beautiful, and its silver wiring suited it better than the gilded sapphire next to it. Vesemir huffed but didn’t correct the merchant; instead settled on a crescent moon-shaped jasper with bronze wiring. “My mate prefers the simpler things in life,” Vesemir admits, holding the necklace in the light. “A young thing such as him-“

“He’s not my mate. He’s for my son.” Vesemir growls,

#Witcher #Geraskier #Geraskier a/o/b #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard #jaskier #omega Jaskier #Alpha Geralt

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hegorys · 4 months

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Geraskier fic idea #2

What if in a universe a/b/o the witcher, the witchers were just alphas and considered sterile because they can't get pregnant people they have sex with, be they female betas, female omegas or male omegas, but some group of wizards can transform omegas in witchers and can these omega witchers get pregnant by alpha witchers? And their children are born witchers and don't have to go through all the torture that their parents had to go through to become witchers?

In this universe, the group of wizards who manage to transform omegas into witchers are not necessarily bad, they are people who reached a point where they asked themselves "instead of going through the whole process of experimenting with thousands of alpha children to get just one small percentage of alpha witcher children, since out of every 10 only 3 have a chance of surviving the transformation process, why don't we try to resolve the issue of reproduction of alpha witchers?", because if witchers could reproduce and the children were already born witchers, there would be more witchers to deal with the monsters on the continent, they would not need to go hunting alone and the chances of dying on the way decrease

Of course, the omegas that go through the transformation process are aware that if they choose to go through the process they have a high chance of dying, however, in an a/b/o universe the omegas usually suffer a lot, including suffering at the hands of alpha humans for being considered weak, a low caste in the pyramid, and risking becoming stronger and having a freer life with a chance of finding a good alpha (here alpha witchers are decent and loyal people ok, hahahaha), they would definitely choose the second option, at least I think so, ahahahah

Jaskier chooses to become an omega witcher, meets Geralt on a hunt and they both click "oh my loki I want to climb that grumpy alpha" and "holy loki look at that male omega beauty is flexible, I want him to carry my cubs ", of course, for that kind of thought to happen I think they would have to be virgins, I've never seen Geralt a virgin in any fic, hahahaha

#alpha geralt #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #geralt de rivia #witcher geralt #witcher #jaskier #omega jaskier #geraskier fic

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eggcompany · 2 months

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#ao3 fanfic #fanfic #egg_company #smut tag #wattpad #fanfiction #alpha/beta/omega au #jaskier #geralt z rivii #bucky barnes #steve rogers #geraskier #stucky #royjamie #jamie tartt #roy kent #ted lasso #the witcher #marvel

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kayte-overmoon · 1 year

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An excerpt from my Geraskier ABO Pregnancy AU

I'm still working on this fic (it's a big one) but I wanted to give you all SOMETHING, so here's a little (3.5k-word) excerpt to tide you over!

Rating: Mature (no explicit sexual content, but it's fairly suggestive)

Tags: fluff, mild angst, platonic affection, idiots in love, pregnant Jaskier, mpreg, ABO/Omegaverse, canon era

Jaskier is soaking in an Igni-heated bath barely big enough for him to fit in. He doesn’t seem to mind, kicking his feet up over the far edge as he rests his head on the other end.

“As much as I hate you spending all our money on inns,” he’s saying, eyes closed as Geralt cleans his swords. “I do appreciate a good soak in a man-made basin every now and then.”

“I know you do,” Geralt says, half a smile on his face for a moment before it drops. There’s something on his mind, something that’s been bugging him since the moment he decided to keep Jaskier.

“Now, now, witcher,” Jaskier tsks. “What’s the frown for this time?”

Geralt sets aside his swords and looks at his companion. Jaskier has twisted his torso to see Geralt better, arms crossed on the side of the basin and chin propped up on them, watching Geralt with wide, amused blue eyes. Geralt no longer bristles at the bard’s nudity—a good thing, because he tends toward heat spells these days, and often the only way to cool down is to strip to the skin. They’ve had a good couple of weeks of work, so his cheeks are full and pinked with the heat from the bath. He could use a shave, but other than that, he looks good.

Geralt looks down at his own hands. “We should talk. About our arrangement.”

“I wasn’t aware we had an arrangement.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, watching the omega smile out of the corner of his eye. “I mean our situation.” He looks up and meets Jaskier’s eye again. “You can’t keep traveling like this, Jask. We need to get you somewhere safe. Comfortable.”

“But I am safe,” Jaskier pouts. “I feel safer with you than I do anywhere else.”

“That’s the problem, little lark,” Geralt says, the endearment spilling from his lips like water. Every time he calls him that, Jaskier’s shoulders relax like Geralt’s taken a great weight off them. He makes it a point to do it as frequently as possible now. “I told you before, the Path is no place for a child. And all that aside, you’re going to keep getting sicker if we don’t let you rest.”

Jaskier waves him off, sinking back into his bath. “You worry too much.”

“No, you don’t worry enough!”

The omega flinches at his tone, glaring at him from the corner of his eye.

Geralt sighs, looking at him apologetically. “I just mean you should take care, Jaskier. If you’re this ill barely a third of the way into your pregnancy, what do you expect to happen later on?”

“I’m not that ill.”

Geralt scoffs. “You turned down a minced pie today, Jaskier.”

He purses his lips, caught. “Fine. You’re getting rid of me, then?”

Geralt should take it for the opening it is. He knows how dangerous traveling with him is for Jaskier. How much worse will it get when he has a child at his breast? Geralt’s new worst nightmare had quickly become returning from a hunt to find Jaskier taken, hurt, beaten, ripped apart and sold for parts. And besides all that, it was becoming dangerous for Geralt. He’s never been so attached to someone—perhaps Eskel or Vesemir, but they know the dangers of their line of work and can fend for themselves. It’s hard to focus on monster hunting when half his mind is preoccupied with the omega waiting for him back at the inn.

A distracted witcher is a dead witcher.

“No,” Geralt says, not even surprising himself.

There’s no question. He physically can’t bring himself to let Jaskier go. He’s tried considering it a time or two in the months they’ve been together, and each time, his stomach ties itself in knots.

The omega relaxes in the tub. “Good. Because as much as I love you, Geralt, there are some things even you can do to break my heart.”

His tone is light, teasing, and he doesn’t seem to realize the impact the words have on Geralt.

He’s still reeling from those words (I love you echoing in his mind) when Jaskier finally pulls himself from the bath, dripping wet, pruned, and smelling of chamomile. Perhaps the sight, perhaps the smell, perhaps those words muddle his mind enough for Geralt to blurt out, “Come to Kaer Morhen with me.”

Jaskier blinks up at him from the towel he’d been drying himself with, his hair tufted up on one side from where he’d rubbed it. “Kaer Morhen?”

“The homeplace of the witchers,” Geralt explains. “The wolf witchers, at least. It’s where I grew up. It’s where I—where we go every winter.”

“And you… want me to come with you?”

“Is that… is that alright? For me to ask?”

Jaskier chuckles and comes to where Geralt is sitting at the edge of the bed—there’s only one, since they’re on a strict budget, after all—and insinuates himself between Geralt’s knees. He doesn’t even seem to be aware of his nudity. Geralt decidedly is aware of it. “Dear witcher,” Jaskier says fondly. His hands land on either of Geralt’s shoulders and his scent, warm and happy, surrounds Geralt’s senses. “Never doubt how much your generosity means to me. It sounds lovely, but…”

“But?” Geralt gives into temptation, lets his hands settle in the dip of Jaskier’s hips, his wrists almost brushing the soft skin of his ever-growing belly. Some deep, base instinct makes him want to rub his scent glands over Jaskier’s bump, to claim him and the pup as Geralt’s. He digs his fingers into his bard’s hips to keep from doing that. He hasn’t been given permission. Jaskier has given no indication that he sees Geralt as anything more than a close friend, a platonic person who could protect him and his pup. The last thing Geralt wants is to breach his trust.

Jaskier purrs softly, not seeming to realize he’s doing it. He fiddles with Geralt’s hair. “I feel as if I’m taking advantage of you.”

Geralt snorts. “Trust me, if I didn’t want you here, I would have dumped you before we even left Posada.”

The bard tips his head and smiles and gods above Geralt just wants to pull him into his lap and press his face against his neck where his scent is strongest. Still grinning, Jaskier asks, “Why do you put up with me, witcher? You don’t seem the type to form attachments.”

“I’m not.”

“And yet… here we are.”

Geralt observes him carefully in the candlelight. “Here we are.” He drags his thumb absently across Jaskier’s ribs, watching goosebumps rise in his wake. Jaskier takes a breath at that, pulling himself away from Geralt to continue drying and dressing himself. Geralt mourns the loss of his touch but lets him go.

“So.” Jaskier twists open a jar of sweet-smelling oil he’d been rubbing on his belly of late. I may adore this child with every fiber of my being, Geralt, but that does not mean I wish to have the marks of pregnancy on my youthful form for the rest of eternity. “Kaer Morhen?”

“Mmm.” Geralt picks up his swords again, going about cleaning and sharpening them absently while he watches Jaskier go about his routine. “Vesemir will be there. He’s a healer, of sorts. He could help with the delivery. Or we could bring someone if you like. A midwife of your choosing.”

Jaskier hums back at him, a mannerism he’s beginning to pick up from Geralt without even realizing it. “Vesemir?”

“My… father, I suppose.” At the omega’s inquisitive look, he goes on. “Witchers are born human and come—came, rather—to the keep when they were young. Many were orphans. Some… weren’t.” Jaskier clearly catches on but graciously deigns not to dig in. “Vesemir was one of the teachers before the sacking of Kaer Morhen, when mages destroyed all knowledge of making new witchers and killed all but a handful of us. Vesemir is the oldest living witcher. He took it upon himself to care for the keep and the last few witchers.”

“You speak fondly of him,” Jaskier says. “Are you close?”

Geralt grunts, not in agreement or disagreement. “I suppose. As close as witchers let themselves get. We have a lot in common. All the witchers left do. No one quite understands the life of a witcher more than another witcher.”

“How many of you are there left?”

“Of my school, the wolf witchers”—he thumbs his medallion—“there’s only me, Vesemir, and my brothers Eskel and Lambert. There are several others left from other schools, but we’re not nearly as close.”

“So, this winter,” Jaskier says. “Would it just be us and Vesemir? Or will your brothers be there?”

“Hard to tell,” Geralt shrugs. “We usually don’t know who’s going to show up until they arrive at the keep. The past couple years, Lambert has brought a guest.”

Dark eyebrows rise as Jaskier slips into a clean change of smallclothes. “A guest? Then it won’t be strange if I come?”

Geralt snorts. “No, it will be strange. Lambert’s guest is a witcher from one of the other schools.” He meets Jaskier’s eye. “None of us have ever brought home a human. Not since it’s just been the four of us.”

“Let alone a pregnant omega?” Jaskier snorts. He flicks a wrist, playing at being scandalized. “Imagine what they’ll say, Geralt! They’ll accuse you of stealing my virtue!”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “As if you had any to begin with.”

Jaskier gasps, clutching his chest. “You wound me, darling. I’ll have you know I was the picture of innocence before—well, before this.” The hand at his chest smooths over his stomach as he looks down fondly.

Geralt hums in response, languishing in the omega’s happy scent as he strokes his baby bump. “They’ll know it’s not mine anyway.”

“How so?”

“Witchers are sterile,” Geralt says. He expects the shocked, saddened look Jaskier shoots his way, and waves him off. “I’m not sensitive about it. It’s part of the Trials to become a witcher, and they don’t hide the information from us beforehand. We go in knowing we will either die in the trials or come out the other side an alpha with no ability to breed.”

“Oh.” Jaskier wilts a little, his scent—usually a mix of honey and lilies—dips toward something like sandalwood. “I’m sorry, Geralt.”

“It’s not your fault, Jask.”

“No, I mean.” He throws his chemise over his head and scrambles up onto the bed with Geralt, laying his head on the witcher’s shoulder with no regard for the sword in his hands. Again, that blind trust that makes Geralt wonder what he did to deserve it. “Here I am, running around and making poor life decisions while carrying a pup, and you can’t…”

“Jask.” Geralt nuzzles his hair absently to get his attention. The omega tips his head up to look at him with watery blue eyes. Geralt sets the sword aside—again—and resolves to finish it in the morning. “I told you, I don’t care. Especially not when I get to see how happy you are every day.”

Jaskier squints, mushing his cheek against Geralt’s shoulder, looking every bit like a contented house cat. “I am happy. I feel as if I should be worried or anxious or afraid, but I’m not. I have many regrets in my life, but this is not one of them. I’m glad I have the pup. I’m glad I have my freedom. I’m glad I have you. You’re a dear friend, you know that, Geralt?”

Geralt grunts.

“You are!” Jaskier shoves his arm gently, not even enough to dislodge himself from Geralt’s shoulder. “Not many people would be willing to put up with me, with or without the child. And here you are, not just tolerating me, but taking care of me. Why is that?”

Geralt shrugs with his free shoulder.

“Oh, don’t get silent on me now, Geralt! We’re having a heart-to-heart!”

“Exactly.”

“Ugh!” Jaskier flings himself back on the bed, kneeing Geralt in the thigh as he squirms to get comfortable. Geralt pinches his leg in retaliation, making him giggle. “Fine. Don’t tell me, then. I’ll just assume you are susceptible to my charm and wit. You saw me in Posada and thought, ‘Yes. Now there’s a man I’d let rub chamomile on my lovely bo—‘”

“It was one time, Jask.”

“One very memorable time, on my part.” Jaskier grins, cheeky and lecherous. With a face like that, there’s no wonder he was knocked up before the age of twenty.

Geralt makes himself end that line of thought the second it arrives.

Instead of admiring his friend’s fuckability, he grunts. “It’s not too late for me to leave you along the road somewhere.”

“No!” Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt’s waist from behind, his head knocking against his hip. Geralt twists to accommodate him, letting the bard rest his head in his lap. “I’ll surely shrivel up and die the moment you leave me. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?”

“I think you overestimate how much you need me. You’d make it just fine on your own.”

The omega tips his head to level an unimpressed look up at him. “When we met, I was getting booed out of taverns and stuffing bread in my pants so I’d have something to eat later.”

Geralt just hums.

Jaskier pokes him in the side. “I’m happy with you, Geralt. It’s a peculiar arrangement, but I couldn’t ask for anything better.”

Geralt watches him for a moment, aware his face was probably too fond at the moment but too content with the omega’s closeness to care. “You pet your stomach when you’re tired, you know that?”

Jaskier looks down. Sure enough, his hand had strayed to the little bump and was smoothing over it. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Winter isn’t for another two months still.”

“Very astute, love.”

Geralt snorts and tugs his hair until Jaskier yelps and bats his hands away. “I mean, I think we should find somewhere safe for you until it’s time to make the trip to Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier frowns and turns to lay on his back, his head still in Geralt’s lap. The hand that had tugged his hair now smooths it back. “You want to split up?”

“Only for a couple weeks,” Geralt says. “The Path, as I’ve said, is no place for you right now. You’re only going to get more uncomfortable in the coming months, and you need to be somewhere you can rest and relax. It would… I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you or the pup because you’re with me.”

“What do you propose, then?”

“I can put you up somewhere. Somewhere with good weather and plenty of things for you to do. Somewhere you can relax and pick at that lute you’ve barely touched the past few weeks.”

Jaskier frowns. “Fingers were too swollen.”

“The swelling will go down if you rest.” Geralt leans over him to catch his eye. “And as much as I love having you close, knowing you and the pup are safe and healthy, I’d feel better knowing you were somewhere you can get warm baths and hot food whenever you want.”

“How do you propose we do that, hmm? It isn’t as if we have the money.”

Geralt puts a hand on Jaskier’s chest to hold him steady as he reaches over the edge of the bed for his sword. He unclasps the pin there, the one he’d pulled from Renfri’s body as a reminder all those years ago. He holds it out for Jaskier.

The bard takes it and studies it. “I’ve seen this but didn’t want to ask.” His thumb runs carefully across the clasp. “I figured it was sentimental. It’s fine craftsmanship. I’m sure it would sell for a pretty penny, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“It is,” Geralt says. “I’m not sentimental. The person who gave it to me is long dead. It was more of a… reminder to myself, than anything else. I don’t…” He looks at Jaskier. The bard was now holding the hand Geralt had put on his chest, stroking his wrist softly as he watches Geralt with those wide, innocent eyes. “I don’t think I need it anymore.”

Jaskier’s heart rate spikes for a moment as he turns the pin over in his hand, pink flushing his cheeks. “If you’re sure,” he says. “I don’t want you giving up any more than you already have for me, Geralt. I’ll never be able to repay you for your kindness.”

“I’m not doing this so you’ll pay me back.”

“Then why are you?”

The same question from earlier, just rephrased. Glancing at Jaskier, Geralt knows he did it on purpose. Geralt sighs and takes the pin back, just to give himself something to do. “Because you’re special, Jask.” The bard beams, and Geralt nudges him softly. “Don’t let it go to your head. I’m going to sell this so you don’t freeze or go hungry while I’m gone. I’ll let you pick the town.”

“Oxenfurt,” he says without hesitation.

Geralt frowns. “Why Oxenfurt?”

“I’ve got friends there, at the university,” Jaskier explains. “I know at least one of them will put me up, especially if I pay for food and whatever other expenses I’ll have.”

“How do you know these friends?”

“Stand down, guard dog,” Jaskier chuckles. “We grew up together. Priscilla was from a neighboring family, and we were the same age, so we always sat together at parties. She is kind, and generous, and happily bonded to her alpha, Philippa.” He gives Geralt a significant look and Geralt stops bristling—which he didn’t even realize he was doing. “They’re good friends, Geralt. They’ll ensure I’m looked after while you’re gone.”

Geralt nods, smoothing a hand down Jaskier’s chest. His gaze strays to the little bump on the bard’s belly, where Jaskier is still stroking.

“You want to feel?” the omega offers. “Pup won’t be moving for a couple months, probably, but it’s a fascinating feeling.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier takes his hand and lifts his chemise, letting Geralt finally rest his palm over the little swell beneath his navel. His skin is hot and smooth, little divots where his skin has begun stretching to accommodate the life growing beneath the surface. It’s not big—Geralt’s hand covers the full expanse of it—but it feels significant. If he focuses, he can feel the vibrations of the pup’s heartbeat. His breath leaves him in a rush.

“What?” Jaskier asks in quiet alarm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Geralt says. He strokes his hand across Jaskier’s belly gently, soothing him in and taking in the feel. “I can feel their heartbeat.”

“Really?” Jaskier slips his hand under Geralt’s, brows drawing in with the effort of trying.

Geralt chuckles softly at him. “You won’t be able to. Witcher senses.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier squeaks. The scent of tears alerts Geralt to his sudden burst of emotion.

“Jaskier?” He shifts around so the bard is no longer on his lap and leans over him, one hand still on his belly and the other on the bed. “Jaskier, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“No, no.” Jaskier gives a shaky laugh and wipes his face with the hand not trapped under Geralt’s. “I’m fine. Just… overwhelmed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He flips his hand over to catch Geralt’s fingers in his. “That was the greatest gift you could give me. Guh.” He gives a mighty, nasty sniff that makes Geralt laugh. “Shut up. Don’t make fun of a poor, pregnant omega.”

“I would never.” Geralt raises their joined hands to his lips before he even realizes what he’s doing and presses a kiss to the omega’s knuckles. Jaskier’s cheeks turn pink and his scent takes a sultry spike that Geralt doesn’t let himself linger on. “So, we’re agreed? Tomorrow we leave for Oxenfurt, where you’ll stay with your friends if they’ll have you. I’ll return for you in two months when it’s time to make the trip up the Blue Mountains. We’ll spend the winter in Kaer Morhen until the pup arrives, then we stay as long as you need to recover.”

Jaskier blinks up at him. “We… you mean you intend to keep me around after the pup arrives?”

“Of course,” Geralt says, though he hadn’t put much thought to it before. All he knew was that there was no way he was willing to part with his omega.

No, not his omega. Just Jaskier. Jaskier, who happened to be an omega. Jaskier, who was carrying another alpha’s pup.

Jaskier can’t seem to find words—a rare occurrence for him—so he just pulls Geralt down into a crushing hug. Geralt keeps himself up, afraid to put too much weight on the bard. “Thank you,” Jaskier whispers, a fresh wave of tears spilling from his eyes and smearing all over both of them. “Thank you, thank you.”

#fanfic #the witcher #geraskier #sfw #for once #maybe a bit suggestive though #omegaverse #ABO #omega jaskier #mpreg #pregnant jaskier #alpha geralt #they're in love but they're not ready to admit it #kayte overmoon

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kueble · 1 year

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This is too long to post here, but please check it out on ao3. This was meant to be a quick smut fic and it grew into nearly 20k of angst, fluff, and smut. These boys got crazy on me lol.

Explicit. Warnings: a/b/o, knotting, intersex omegas, heat fic. 20,000 words

Geralt/Jaskier/Eskel

Stars by the Pocketful

Summary: Geralt brings Jaskier home with him to Kaer Morhen with the intent on mating during his next heat. Spending time with Eskel leads to some interesting new feelings, but it all works out in the en

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskel #geralt x jaskier x eskel #alpha eskel #omega jaskier #beta geralt #so much fluff #with a side of guilt and angst #featuring lil bleater #and some hot training sessions #this is the second longest thing ive evwr written omg #this is a gift for Chris but i dont think he is on tumblr #chris if you are let me know #now i will stop rambling #wait one more #it is my birthday today so you are obligated to reblog this and bring me joy #pretty please 🥺

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bambirex · 6 months

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Okay, just out of curiosity - it won't necessarily affect the plot, just genuinely interested in your thoughts:

#geraskier #yennskier #radskier #mamma mia au #jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #radovid #omega jaskier #alpha geralt #alpha yennefer #beta radovid #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #genuinely just curious

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 2 years

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Knot On My Watch

My second fic for @witchersummercamp! You can either read it below the cut or on AO3.

Prompt: Heat

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: E

Words: 2K

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics; a lot of mercenaries dying violently

Summary: When a band of trained killers think they can get the best of Geralt while he’s holed up in Jaskier’s Oxenfurt townhouse for his heat, they’re in for a rude surprise. So is Jaskier, who—knotted deep inside his lover—has no choice but to cling onto Geralt’s back and hold on for dear life once the swords come out.

There are only four places on the Continent where Geralt can let his guard down enough to be knotted—Kaer Morhen, the Temple of Melitele’s heat rooms, Yennefer’s cottage in Vengerberg, and Jaskier’s faculty lodgings in Oxenfurt.

Before Jaskier—and later Yennefer—came into his life, his summer heats were miserable affairs. Lambert, the only other Wolf School omega there’s been in Geralt’s lifetime, has a winter heat, the lucky bastard. He spends his heats warm and safe in Kaer Morhen, knotted by Eskel or Coën.

But for Geralt, heats were once spent holed up in abandoned shacks or caves and hoping that his hands wouldn’t be too slippery to grab his sword if something hungry—be it man or monster—was drawn by the scent of an omega in heat. Eventually, he made a deal with Nenneke that he could hole up in one of the Temple of Melitele’s heat rooms, sometimes with the company of a whore from the local brothel or a willing priestess, but usually with nothing but a wooden knot to satisfy him.

But he hasn’t spent a heat alone in nearly twenty years, not since that first summer traveling with Jaskier when his heat hit nearly a month early and he had no choice but to hole up in a cabin with the irritating, overeager alpha bard that had been stuck to him like a wyvern’s barbed tail for months.

Jaskier’s technique has improved significantly after twenty years spent together. For one, he almost always manages to make it inside Geralt before he pops a knot.

Right now, Geralt can feel the knot swelling inside him as Jaskier fucks into him, his chest hair tickling Geralt’s sweat-slicked back. They’re about twelve hours into Geralt’s heat, long enough that they’re both sticky and sweaty. It’s a hot, muggy night in Oxenfurt and the room is oppressively warm, despite the window they’ve cracked open to let in a nonexistent breeze. But Geralt is too drunk on the pleasure of having Jaskier deep inside him, his lover’s lips on his neck and one hand stroking through his hair, to give a damn right now.

“Geralt,” Jaskier gasps. “Oh, love, you feel so fucking perfect. Gods.”

Geralt huffs a laugh. Even after all these years, Jaskier still acts like he’s never been inside an omega before every time they fuck.

“Don’t laugh at me.” But there’s no real ire in Jaskier’s words. “You wouldn’t laugh if you could feel what it’s like to be inside you.”

Geralt clenches down on Jaskier and is rewarded by a throaty moan as Jaskier comes. His knot swells inside Geralt, anchoring him as he starts to feel his own pleasure build in his lower belly. Despite reaching his own satisfaction, Jaskier continues to thrust, his knot rubbing deliciously against that sensitive spot inside Geralt. Jaskier’s hand wraps around Geralt’s cock as his lips find the long-healed mating bite over Geralt’s pulse point and Geralt groans as he grinds into the tight circle of Jaskier’s fist.

The creak of a floorboard in the hallway stops him mid-thrust.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice is hazy with pleasure. “You alright, love?”

Geralt’s witcher senses are muddled from heat, but he forces himself to listen. Shani has stopped by a few times with food, pitchers of water, and cool cloths, but that’s not Shani’s heartbeat in the hallway. Nor would Shani show up with six friends.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asks again, and this time there’s real concern there. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Jaskier’s knot won’t go down for at least another ten minutes. If there are seven intruders inside the house, then they don’t have another ten minutes. They didn’t even bother locking the door; there didn’t seem to be a need. This close to Oxenfurt’s campus, they thought they were safe. They always have been here.

“Wrap your legs around my waist.” Geralt keeps his voice low. “And hang on.”

“Hang on?” Jaskier hisses. “What do you—”

The door flies open, ricocheting off the wall. Geralt rolls to avoid the crossbow bolt fired at them, taking a shrieking Jaskier with him. The bolt embeds itself in the headboard right behind where Jaskier’s head just was. Jaskier curses colorfully, his arms and legs wrapping around Geralt and clinging for dear life, as Geralt snatches his steel sword from where it’s leaning against the wall. Geralt dodges another crossbow bolt, whirling to face their attackers.

There are seven of them, mostly alphas with a couple of betas scattered among their ranks, all armed to the teeth. Trained mercenaries, Geralt can tell from a glance. This isn’t an angry group of townspeople with a grudge against witchers or a ranting group of Eternal Fire acolytes. These are trained killers who probably thought that Geralt would be less dangerous in the midst of his heat.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shrieks as the mercenary with the crossbow fires again. Geralt knocks the bolt from the air with a flick of his sword.

“Hold on tight, Jask,” Geralt says and moves.

A man holding an enormous ax rushes at him, weapon held aloft. Geralt parries the blow and runs him through with a sickening squelch.

“Geralt, this is a Metinnan rug!” Jaskier moans.

Geralt ignores him, sending a blast of Aard at the archer. The man’s crossbow releases as he sails backwards against the wall, hitting one of his fellows in the throat. His unfortunate victim falls with a gurgle.

“On your left!” Jaskier shrieks, his fingers digging into Geralt’s too-sensitive chest painfully.

Geralt grimaces as he sidesteps the tiny, wicked-looking dagger one of the mercenaries throws at him. “Watch what you’re grabbing onto.”

“Ah, sorry.” Jaskier pats him apologetically, then cries out. “Sword! Lots of swords!”

Two men with swords, both burly alphas, come rushing at Jaskier and Geralt. One aims for Geralt’s belly. The other has his eyes fixed on Jaskier. Geralt leaps back, out of the way of the sword aiming for him, and decapitates the mercenary focused on Jaskier. The other attacker shouts with rage, throwing himself at Geralt. He’s a big man, even taller and broader than Geralt and without the haze of heat dulling his senses—and without a bard clinging to his back like a barnacle.

“Geralt!” Up until now, Jaskier’s scent has been mostly shock and a little anger. For the first time, it fills with the bitter scent of fear. “Crossbow!”

Geralt looks over to see that the archer has regained his footing and has his crossbow pointed squarely at them. Seizing the big alpha by the beard, he yanks the man towards him. The bolt hits the alpha in the shoulder and he howls with pain. Geralt slits his throat, holding him like a shield as another bolt whistles through the air. Jaskier lets out a cry.

“What’s wrong?” Frantically, Geralt twists to see Jaskier the best he can. The scent of blood and pain is so heavy in the air that he can’t tell if any is Jaskier’s. The archer shouldn’t have been able to hit Jaskier at that angle, but if he missed a second crossbow—

“He shot my curtains!” Jaskier moans. “Geralt, they were brand new. I had them imported from—”

“Jaskier, I do not give a fuck about your curtains.”

The archer shoots another bolt and a vase shatters. Jaskier makes a noise like he was the one shot.

“That was my grandmother’s!”

Geralt doesn’t mention that Jaskier was so pleased when he learned that his grandmother died that he nearly bankrupted them buying drinks for an entire tavern. Instead, he drops the corpse in his arms and rushes at the archer. It’s a risky move, but the crossbow is the most dangerous in the room; he needs to neutralize it. At the sight of an angry witcher rushing at him, the archer fumbles reloading his crossbow. It’s that fumble that gives Geralt the time he needs to bring his sword down on the weapon, splintering it and severing the man’s hand. As the archer howls in pain, Geralt decapitates him.

“That was for my vase, you son of a whore!” Jaskier shouts. “And my curtains!”

Geralt turns on their remaining two attackers, breathing hard. He’s sure he’s a sight right now, naked as the day he was born, covered in their compatriots’ blood, with a screeching alpha clinging to his back. He smiles his nastiest smile as he takes a step towards them.

“You leave now and you can live,” he tells them. “I’d rather get back to what I was doing.”

The men glance at each other. One is a wiry, balding beta with a dagger in each hand. The other is a burly alpha with a broadsword. “We’re not leaving without your head, witcher whore,” the alpha says as two more men appear in the doorway.

Fuck.

Jaskier’s grip on Geralt tightens as all four attackers rush him at the same time. Geralt meets them with a growl of rage. He dodges and parries, his focus solely on keeping Jaskier out of the range of any blades. The wiry beta catches Geralt on the bicep with one of his daggers and Geralt grunts in pain, driving his sword into the man’s chest.

Jaskier tugs on his hair frantically. “On your left!”

“I’m not a horse, Jaskier.” Geralt jerks his blade from the beta’s chest and turns in time to meet the alpha’s broadsword. He didn’t have time to properly brace himself as he’s driven backwards a step. He’s aware of one of their remaining attackers circling behind him, in range of Jaskier, and he feels his first true surge of fear. He can’t turn around without opening themself both up to a strike from the broadsword-wielding alpha. But if he doesn’t turn around, Jaskier will be easy prey.

There’s the thunk of metal meeting flesh, but the grunt of pain isn’t Jaskier’s.

“Ha! Take that, you pox-ridden jackass!”

Geralt chances a glance over his shoulder to see that Jaskier has grabbed a candelabra and is waving it around wildly. He managed to get his attacker in the nose; the man is clutching his bloody face. He swings wildly as the broadsword-wielding alpha, who ducks back. Geralt takes advantage of the slip in the alpha’s defenses to run him through. He turns in time to see the man whose nose Jaskier broke lunging at him and buries his sword into the man’s eye.

The corpse hasn’t even hit the floor before the surviving mercenary is sprinting for the door. Geralt lets him go. Let the fucker spread word of what happens to those who come after Geralt’s mate. Let him make sure that whoever hired these fuckers is never able to find someone else to take the contract, because they’ll know that Geralt is just as dangerous in heat as any other day.

“Fuck,” Jaskier says, letting the candelabra thunk to the ground.

Geralt grunts an agreement, looking around at the carnage. Jaskier’s bedroom is filled with bodies, the Metinnan rug soaked and the walls splattered with blood.

“Are you hurt?” Jaskier pats his cheek.

“Just a few scratches. You?”

“Not a single scratch.” Jaskier presses a kiss to the shell of his ear. “You took good care of me, love.”

“Don’t I always?”

“You do.” Jaskier sighs. “You know, when I said I’d be open to trying knifeplay someday, this is not what I had in mind. I pictured less brain matter on the curtains.”

“Improves the curtains.”

“You take that back, witcher!”

Geralt feels Jaskier’s cock finally slip out of him, come dribbling down his thigh. It reminds him of the ache of heat inside of him, still not fully satisfied. Now that the adrenaline of the fight is fading, there’s nothing to distract him.

Jaskier slides off Geralt’s back, groaning when his feet hit the blood-soaked carpet. “Well, that was excellent teamwork, Geralt. Honestly, I don’t think you could have done all that without me. Perhaps I should forge some armor for myself and take up witchering.”

Geralt, who remembers the days when Jaskier still fainted at the sight of a blood and is a little surprised he’s not fainting or vomiting right now, makes a noncommittal noise.

Jaskier glances downwards. “Darling, not that I’m not delighted to see it, but how are you still aroused after all of that?”

Geralt also looks down and sees that his cock is still fully hard and his thighs damp with slick. “My heat doesn’t care about armed assassins.”

Jaskier tips his head back and guffaws. “Remind me to incorporate that into my next song. The White Wolf’s mighty sword doesn’t flag in the face of any foe.”

“Bard, I will kill you.”

“Not until your heat is done, you won’t.” With a wink, Jaskier starts to gather up the piles of bedding off the bed.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asks.

“Well, this room is an utter disaster. There’s no fixing that. You’re going to need to buy me a new rug and new curtains. Possibly a new house. But in the meantime, we may as well pick this up in the other room. What kind of alpha would I be if I let my omega’s heat go unsatisfied?”

“Hm.” Geralt glances down at the closest corpse. “We might want to figure out who sent them. Or at least which one of us they were here to kill.”

“That can wait until tomorrow, or maybe the day after. We should probably close the windows though. Don’t want the bodies to attract flies.” With his armful of bedding, Jaskier starts towards the bedroom door, stepping carefully around corpses. “Come on, Geralt, it’s a beautiful night for a life-affirming fuck.”

Geralt thinks about arguing, but he can still feel the need pulsing inside him and he has a perfect view of Jaskier’s cute little ass and strong legs right now, which is more compelling than any point he could make.

“You’re the strangest alpha I’ve ever met,” he says as he goes to close the window.

From the doorway, Jaskier grins over his shoulder. “And you’re the strangest omega I’ve ever met. Isn’t it lucky we found each other?”

Geralt hums in agreement and follows Jaskier from the room, closing the door on the bodies littering the ground. Jaskier is right; they can deal with that in the morning. For now, Geralt has a heat to finish in peace.

***

If you enjoyed, please consider leaving kudos or comments on AO3!

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @mosaicscale @tsukiwolf42 @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #alpha/beta/omega verse #ghost's fic #ghost's writing #witcher summer camp 2022

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holylulusworld · 2 months

Text

Broken Rose (Prologue)

Summary: He may have stolen your kingdom and freedom – but he’ll never own your heart. Right?

Pairing: Alpha!Geralt of Rivia x Queen(Omega)!Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, mentions of death/fighting/blood, mentions of forced/arranged marriage trope, friends to enemies to ???, a/b/o, magic

Broken Rose masterlist

A broken rose. That’s what he called you the day he forced you to share his life and bed. Right after he defeated your brave knights, the undefeatable master of darkness, the monster with yellow eyes claimed you as his bride and mate.

Cries. The smell of blood, death, and despair still lingered in the back of your mind when he claimed not only your kingdom but your body too.

The lost battle still tasted bittersweet on your tongue when he stole the first kiss and promised to make you his obedient queen.

He believed that you’ll bow your head and fulfill his every wish.

What he didn’t get was that roses have thorns, and they can cut deep into the flesh of someone who tries to pick them…

“Watch the left flank!” You yelled at your knights while holding your ground. A queen fighting alongside her knights and commoners to defend their homelands from the enemy.

“He’s merciless,” Adekin, one of your most trusted knights said. “We should retreat, my queen. You cannot die out here among us. Go back to the castle.”

“If I die, I’ll do it next to you and my knights,” you threw yourself into another fight, slicing the enemies invading your homeland open with the sword your father gifted to you. “This is my kingdom and my people. I will not back down!”

“He’s the black magician, the Witcher enchanting even beasts,” he cut the next enemy's head off. “We cannot withstand much longer, my queen. Please head back to the castle.”

“No!” You refused to fall back and run away like a coward. If your life ended tonight, it would end on your conditions. “This is my fight as much as yours. It’s my birthright to defend this country and feed the earth with my blood.”

“My queen,” Adekin protected you with his shield and struck another enemy down. “It’s an honor to fight alongside you. It will be an ever greater honor to die for you.”

“No one will die tonight,” you rammed your dagger into an attacker’s side. “He will not win.” You gritted your teeth. “This is our kingdom. The Witcher cannot have it.”

“Y/N, queen of Rosethra,” the ground shook when his voice cut through the night. The monsters attacking you stopped in their tracks, and your knights dropped their swords to the ground. “I came here to ask for your hand.”

“Go back to where you came from,” even now, he couldn’t enchant you with his magic. “Here is nothing for you, Geralt of Rivia. I will never bow for you. Kill me now if you are man enough.”

His laughter made you even angrier. You gripped your sword tighter and prepared for the final battle. “My sweet rose,” he stepped out of the darkness, smirking darkly because you were the last one standing.

Your knights fell to their knees, defeated by an invisible power holding them down.

“What are you doing to them?” You screamed as Adekin looked back at you with black eyes. “No…stop this!”

“Queen of Rosethra, I came here to unite our kingdoms,” he stepped toward you, his hands raised in surrender, but not defeated at all. “Give yourself to me, and your people will live. Your knights will live. No one must die tonight if you agree to become mine.”

You looked at Adekin, your fallen knight. He didn’t deserve to turn into one of the monsters following Geralt. You knew his magic could enslave your beloved people, and couldn't let them suffer because of your dignity and pride.

You gritted your teeth but kneeled in front of him.

For now, the battle was lost. So, you chose to save your people and give up on your freedom. You placed your sword in front of you and tilted your head in submission.

“If you shelter their lives and don’t turn them into monsters,” you glared up at Geralt, the man who used to be your confidant and friend, “I’m yours...”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #alpha!geralt of rivia x omega!reader #a/b/o #Broken Rose (Prologue)#geralt of rivia x you #dark!geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x y/n

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transholmes · 1 year

Text

Title: A Loving Scent

Prompt: Omegaverse. Yes that was the wreck prompt but these guys wanted to be fluffy.

Pairing: Geraskier.

Rating: Teen.

Warnings: None

Can be read on AO3. @whataboutthebard

Jaskier buried his nose at Geralt’s scent gland, breathing deeply of the rich, musky odor.

He was at this moment oblivious to the nice bed and cozy inn room they occupied, too caught up in scenting his friend and sometimes lover, relishing the scent itself almost as much as the fact that Geralt let him.

Scenting was as intimate to alphas and omegas as it was crucial to their personal well-being and to forming and maintaining bonds with one another, done between friends and close family members as much as between lovers or mated couples. Geralt was usually so guarded and let so few close enough to catch even a stray whiff of him, but Jaskier was allowed to scent him to his heart's content. And he in turn loved scenting Jaskier.

Right now Geralt’s scent was pure contentment.

“I love how you smell when you’re all relaxed like right now,” Jaskier murmured.

He nosed at the scent gland, his hand stroking Geralt’s chest and Geralt let out a low moan.

“Keep doing that and I’ll start smelling frustrated,” Geralt rumbled.

“A little frustration never hurt anyone,” Jaskier replied, nosing Geralt’s scent gland again.

Geralt nudged him back and gave him a look that very much said, ‘That’s rich coming from you’.

“Oh come now, you know I’d never leave you unsatisfied for long,” Jaskier said, caressing Geralt’s chest again, relishing the feeling of the firm, warm muscles beneath the thin linen shirt.

Geralt burst into motion, grabbed Jaskier, and flipped him onto his back, pinning him down with his weight as he gently nosed at his gland.

Jaskier laughed delightedly, tilting his head to allow Geralt better access. It thrilled him that Geralt approached him so openly now, without hesitation, trusting in his welcome. He closed his eyes and surrendered to the warm, fulfilling feeling of having a trusted person scent him.

It wasn’t something he allowed many, this unrestricted, easy access to scenting him. In his own way, Jaskier was as guarded and cautious as Geralt though few saw beyond his flamboyant clothes and bright smiles to ever notice the walls. And Geralt was the only alpha he had ever trusted with this.

They weren’t mated and though Jaskier had agreed to spend the winter, and thus his heat, at Kaer Morhen he knew neither of them had any intention of having that lead to mating. Jaskier knew he wasn’t the mating type, too restless for one and disinclined to stick to one partner exclusively for another. Traits that Geralt shared.

But even if he didn’t desire a mating bond having someone scent him like this, someone as trusted and beloved as Geralt, filled him with contentment and happiness.

“Are you sure?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier hewed a mental sigh, they were having this discussion again then? He’d have it as many times as needed, keep telling Geralt that he would always be welcome to scent Jaskier whenever he wanted to, but that didn’t mean the topic didn’t sometimes feel old.

But before he could say anything Geralt continued, “About this winter I mean. Coming with me to Kaer Morhen?”

Oh, so it was this other discussion they were having again instead? Jaskier could do that, at least this one wasn’t quite as old and rehashed.

“Did you or did you not hear me say yes to coming with you?” he said.

“I did.”

“So why bring it up again?”

“Because I’m still not sure you know what you’re agreeing to. Kaer Morhen has few comforts and fewer people in it. And once the snow starts to fall you’ll be stuck there until it melts from the pass. I worry you’ll be bored.”

“Well if the library is anything like you said it is then I’ll be plenty occupied. In fact, you may have to haul me out of there by force come spring.”

“I have a hard time imagining you with your nose in a book.”

“I spent most of my childhood doing nothing but. Lettenhove was dreadfully dull and the abbey little better, they provided a welcome distraction. Kaer Morhen can’t be worse than those places. At least no one is going to beat me there.”

“No, but Lambert might bite you,” Geralt quipped, recognizing Jaskier’s attempt at dark humor.

Jaskier shrugged.

“I’ll bite him back then,” Jaskier said primly.

“You may want to be careful about that, Eskel thinks he might be into it,” Geralt deadpanned.

Jaskier playfully punched his shoulder, then raised his hand and cradled Geralt’s cheek.

“But truly, I want a winter of- of us. Of not feeling moody and itchy at the end of winter because your scent is gone.”

It wasn’t something he had ever told Geralt, not in as many words, how much he missed his scent. It felt too vulnerable somehow, but maybe it was a good time to spell it out.

Geralt’s face softened.

“I thought-” he began only to break off and look away shyly.

“You thought what?” Jaskier gently prompted when Geralt remained silent for several moments.

Geralt pressed his nose against Jaskier’s wrist, his eyes closed.

“I’ve always hated it when your chemise stop smelling like you at the end of winter,” Jaskier teased.

“Hmmm, I suspected you stole those on purpose.”

Geralt blushed faintly.

“Come now. One of my chemises can only go missing at the end of autumn so many times, and then magically reappear after we reunite in spring, before a man grows to be a bit suspicious about things.”

“Sorry,” Geralt muttered.

Jaskier caressed his cheek.

“There's nothing to forgive, darling. But you could simply have asked me for one, and I’d happily have given it to you. No need for sneaking.”

“I know, just...”

...just didn’t want to admit how much he felt a desire for Jaskier’s scent, or so the bard suspected.

Damn if all of this hadn’t been a battle, to get Geralt to allow himself to want. But Jaskier knew that digging further into this might have his witcher close off again.

Though they had both come far from those early days where Geralt refused to accept anything Jaskier gave him except when he did so in the most surreptitious fashion, there were still times Geralt would retreat, emotionally if not physically, if Jaskier pushed too hard or too fast. It made their relationship feel like a very intricate and challenging dance. But to Jaskier, it was still more than worth it.

Ah well, no need to dive into this right now.

“Nevermind,” he said. “This winter you get to be annoyed by a real, life bard instead.”

“Hmmm.”

Geralt reached out and tugged at Jaskier and Jaskier moved willingly to sit in his lap, the witcher all but wrapped around him, nose again buried near his scent gland.

There was one thing nagging in the back of Jaskier’s mind.

“Are you okay with it? Me coming with you for the winter?”

Geralt shifted his head just enough that he could look at Jaskier.

“Do you think I would have invited you if I wasn’t?” he asked.

“Probably not.”

“I’ve wanted to ask you the last couple of years, just didn’t think you’d agree.”

“Have I ever passed up spending time with you?”

“No, though the gods know why.”

“Because you’re the best alpha I know, the best friend. I know you don’t believe me when I tell you and maybe never will, but that doesn’t make it any less the truth. If I were to ever pick a mate, it would be you.”

“I’m sure your family would love that choice.”

Jaskier laughed.

“Probably would be the last push they needed to completely disown me. But I would gain so much more than I would lose in that.”

“You could do better.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Regardless, I don’t want better, I want you. I want an alpha that isn’t trying to control me, who isn’t hung up about having kids.”

“You don’t want to be leashed.”

“Exactly. This is one of the reasons why I want you, you understand.”

“I’m sure you could find another.”

“Maybe, though this is rarer than you think. But it’s not about that, I don’t want to look. I’ve already found what I’m looking for, why would I keep searching?”

He gently pushed at Geralt’s chest for him to lay down, then cuddled up against his side, head resting on his shoulder.

“I know when I’ve got it good, my dear and it’s nice to be cherished without being restricted.”

“And it feels good to...”

Jaskier carefully stayed silent, letting Geralt find his own words in his own time.

“Good to have someone. I never thought I would.”

It was more vulnerability than he had expected from Geralt. He reached up and brushed his fingers along the edge of the witcher’s hair.

“You have me,” he promised. “As much as anyone can, you have me, Geralt.”

Geralt smiled softly.

“I know,” he whispered back.

They curled up around one another, breathing each other’s scent and for a long while after, nothing more was said.

#geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #omega jaskier #alpha geralt #willow whisper #wuv the bard

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