#omega Jaskier

[thedemonofcat]

Omegaverse Au:

Despite popular belief, Jaskier and Geralt had never actually mated. Unlike most Omegas, Jaskier never wanted to settle down and have kids. As for Geralt, despite being the ideal Alpha, he always maintained that a witcher’s life wasn't suited for having a mate.

Still, people insisted on calling Jaskier the witcher’s Omega.

Even after Geralt left him, Jaskier was still referred to as belonging to Geralt. It's becoming increasingly difficult for Jaskier to cope with being alone when everyone views him as Geralt's property.

[eggcompany]

Julian, On My Knees Part1

Young, broke, omega Julian Pankratz, Jaskier, finds a place to live. Sharing a nice little flat in the good part of town with a fit older alpha who's daughter just moved out. The room is perfect, his own bathroom, and his flatmate is probably the most gentle yet stern, buff and beautiful, and sweetest smelling alpha he's ever encountered. It's just perfect

At least he thought so. Stupid thin walls, stupid heat brain.

“Hi! You must be Mister Rivia! I’m Julian Alfred but everyone calls me Jaskier. It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance.” The young man said quickly, in a chirpy way as his hand stuck out as soon as the front door swung open. His eyes squinted with how widely he smiled, the picture of happiness and joy. 

Geralt shook his hand, taking in the chipper man. 

He was nearly as tall as the older alpha, which was surprising but welcomed. He’d be able to reach all the shelves, Geralt thought as he took stock. The boy had messy brown hair and a round baby face. Soft pink cheeks, sparkling blue eyes, smooth summer sun tinted skin, clean and nice. So much more beautiful than his profile picture. 

Geralt nodded, turning to let the omega into the apartment, waving him in with a hand. 

“Hmm, this is the flat. Bathroom’s over there. I have my own so that’s yours. That’s my room, you can knock if you need anything, I work from home mostly. There’s a mini fridge in your room, it’s older but if you want it out, I can remove it. The living room, the kitchen, I prep my food so please don’t mess with my containers. I split it down the middle with electric tape to make it easier but it’s not a strict line.” Geralt explained as he walked the other man around the house, pointing at doors. He couldn’t help but glance at the wide smile on the omega’s face. 

He’d explained the apartment over text when the boy said he was interested. It didn’t take Geralt long to take the ad down and decide Julian Pankratz was the only applicant. He was young, only 22 years old, worked part time at a coffee shop and part time riding his bike around delivering food. He was an aspiring musician, liked staying in and watching movies, didn’t have many friends in the city, and most importantly, he was an unwed, unmated Omega. Someone who wouldn’t be bringing another alpha into the house at all hours of the night stinking up Geralt’s space. 

Geralt knew another alpha in the house would only cause trouble. Betas didn’t like all the rules about scenting in Geralt’s building, and most of the Omegas interested so far were 18 year olds who wanted someone to look after them once they left their parents house. 

Julian, Jaskier, was different. He’d said he wanted some freedom and space, just wanting one person to live with so he didn’t get lonely but would let him be his own person. Someone to have his back and talk to but wouldn’t smother him or try to parent him. Seemed like a good fit. 

Geralt smiled a bit, amused, when Jaskier’s eyes widened and explored the kitchen, opening the fridge and cabinets. He almost forgot what it was like to be around someone with enthusiasm about everyday things, a youthful bounce in their step. 

Jaskier couldn’t hold in his excitement. The space was big and open, cool grey flooring with a big rug in the living room and well loved black leather couch and matching recliner, the tv was huge, the kitchen was huge, the cabinets were spacious, the fridge was big and had a nice freezer, and it smelled amazing, like warmth and clean laundry and a little like leather shoes. It was so much bigger than what Jaskier was hoping for, and so much bigger than what it should be for the price they had agreed to. 

“Wow this is nice! I’m so excited! The last flat I was in had two bedrooms and I lived with seven people. I’ll make sure to pay rent on time and keep my space clean, sir. But um… can I ask you something about the room?” Jaskier asked as they made their way to the slightly ajar door. He stopped short of it, not reaching for the doorknob but standing patiently. 

Geralt waited a minute for the boy to continue but Jaskier was waiting for the Alpha’s permission. Geralt liked that, it was respectful and pet something ingrained in his mind. 

“Yes?” Geralt asked as he stood beside the door he’d freshly painted, a nice light nearly white. He watched the omega look down at the floor, cheeks turning a cherry color. They had discussed house rules, rules for the complex, rent payments, but not quite the details of the actual. Apart from the contents and size. 

“I'm an omega. I… have quite um veracious heats. Are the walls…?” Jaskier said in a timid way, embarrassment burning inside of him. He’d only told Mister Rivia that he was an omega, he’d felt it was inappropriate to talk about his heats and such over text. He wanted to make a good impression on the alpha, didn’t want him to think he was some floozy puppy looking for a mate and a free bed. He was a grown man, he wanted the alpha to see that. Even if he still had to ask about the ventilation and soundproofing. 

Geralt understood immediately though, having had the room remodeled after Cirilla had presented. He wasn’t shy about omegan issues, he had an omegan daughter, and had dealt with her issues. Not much scared him anymore. Nothing is more exhausting than a thirteen year old omega who wasn’t scared to leave the house in her pajamas, barefoot, to walk two miles to McDonalds if you didn’t wake up fast enough. 

Geralt wasn’t a blushing twenty year old alpha anymore, after all. He could handle having a screaming banshee in the house for a few days a month. 

“Yes, soundproof and insulated. You have your own thermostat, the door has a seal around it, and there are extra ventilation vents that lead out and not to the rest of the apartment or building. I had it specially remodeled to be… as comfortable as possible for an omega.” Geralt explained and pushed the door open, welcoming Jaskier inside. He stood by the door, wanting to keep the separation of Omegan Space and General Space very stark. 

Jaskier walked in, eyes looking at the ten foot ceiling, the calm blue walls, the plush grey carpet, and the still plastic wrapped mattress Mister Rivia said would be provided sitting on a black metal bed frame that had a spiral patterned head and footboard. It was bare but somehow he could already picture where he’d put his things, hang his posters and pictures. 

He looked at the closet with its louvered doors and the big window overlooking the park that was spread out next to the building. He could open it and get good fresh air or the warm sun, and hear the rain at night. 

“Wow… This is amazing, really. So much space and such soft carpeting… so plush. I'm really really happy. Thank you Mr. Rivia! I’ll go get the rest of my stuff, just a couple bags and my instruments and my ikea shelves.” Jaskier thanked graciously, and happily, nearly skipped, to the front door. The alpha was right behind him, grabbing some keys from the rings by the door. 

“I’ll help you. I have your copy of the key in my truck anyway.” Geralt said and couldn’t help the small smile that smirked on his lips at the omega’s genuine response. 

“Oh, thank you, dear.” Jaskier said as he slipped his shoes back on and opened the front door. He couldn’t help but feel giddy. He’d always dreamed of a place like this. So what if he had a smoking hot roommate who smelled so nice, it was only a bonus. He couldn’t wait to get the plastic off that bed and sleep alone for the first time in… since he moved out of his parent’s house. 

It was like heaven already. 

~~~~~

Geralt was surprised about how much he enjoyed another man’s presence in his home. He liked the sound of Jaskier cooking in the kitchen, he liked that the omega would leave his bathroom door open after he got a shower and his scented steam would waft out, all honey sweet and warm, he liked that Jaskier would come quietly sit down and watch TV with him if he heard a show come on. 

He liked when Jaskier sat on the kitchen counters under the bright white lights to tweak and fix his old second hand instruments. He liked that Jaskier would talk and talk, about his job, customers, his music, anything in the world and not get offended when Geralt didn’t answer. The alpha found it soothing to have the chatter while eating dinner or breakfast. He liked that Jaskier hummed as he did laundry or washed dishes or swept, tunes that he’d hear on a guitar or keyboard after a few weeks. Geralt felt less lonely, like the hollow feeling he felt after Cirilla moved out was being filled, not in the same way his daughter’s presence did, no not at all, it was an all new feeling. It was nice.

Jaskier loved living in the apartment. He could open up his window and smoke when he got itchy for a cigarette, he could work late into the night and not worry about making too much noise, he could masturbate and not worry about the smell or his sounds, and Mister Rivia let him watch TV with him. 

He loved that. He loved sitting by the older alpha, eating dinner with him, greeting him in the morning. He loved that Mister Rivia would ask him if he had a good day at work or if he was cold or if he got wet by the rain and then tell him to get a warm shower and put on some dry clothes before dinner. He liked that when he forgot his work apron and his name tag and his jacket, Mister Rivia caught him in the lobby of the building, all three in his hand and a gentle finger wag. 

He loved being looked after. It wasn’t overbearing, it was sweet. 

They were happy together, Geralt made sure Jaskier knew when to be out of the apartment when his daughter or ex-wife was visiting, sending Jaskier off with a few dollars to get coffee or a snack. Jaskier gave Geralt ample warning when he was going into heat, making sure the alpha was okay with him to heat in the apartment before locking himself away in his room for a few days. 

There were a few hiccups. Geralt had a yelling match in his office which made Jaskier cry and hide away at his friend’s house till Geralt called him, and swore it wouldn’t happen again. Jaskier came home drunk, very drunk, and fell asleep half hung over his toilet, naked from the waist up, shoes left in the middle of the floor, front door left unlocked. Geralt had given him a strong talking to. 

‘That is not safe Julian. If you ever get that drunk, where you can’t keep yourself on your own feet, you call me. At least then I can lock our front door.’ Jaskier had sniffled and nodded, making sure he had Geralt on speed dial. 

And the one time they actually argued. Four months in and they had a fight. Jaskier wanted to hang up a new poster, a big framed thing. But he didn’t ask where the step ladder was and thought it was too rude to stand on a dining room chair. So he stood on his computer chair. And left his bedroom door open. 

Geralt had come home from a meeting at the office, tired and uncomfortable in his tailored suit. He’d barely broken the entryway when he heard Jaskier scream out in fear. He found Jaskier crying, hand over his bloody knee. He was first concerned and scared but once he saw it was just carpet burn, and noticed the computer chair was tipped and the half hung poster, he was angry. He barely kept his voice from rising as Jaskier cried, yelling back.

 ‘I’m a grown man, I can do it by myself!’ Jaskier had shouted, shoving away Geralt's concerned hands. 

‘Obviously, if you used the right things. You should never stand on a swivel chair, Julian, You can be as grown as you want as long as you use your head! Don’t be stupid Julian. Think.’ Geralt had reprimanded, leaving a hand to help Jaskier to his feet. Jaskier had pouted and stomped to the bathroom, slamming the door. Geralt had huffed and slammed his own door. 

Jaskier apologized and looked like a dog, tail tucked between his legs. 

‘I’m sorry. Just got scared.’ 

‘I forgive you. You know where the step ladder is, next time, use it. Please’ 

And all was set back to normal. 

Month after month, five had passed, their few disagreements passed easily, and soon Jaskier had been there for Christmas. 

They had exchanged small gifts. Jaskier got Geralt a pair of new blue slippers because ‘Geralt yours are ugly and old, look these have really good insoles!’, and Geralt got Jaskier a nesting bundle of music print blankets and pillows.

 Jaskier had cried and told Geralt that it wasn’t fair and that he shouldn’t have spent so much money, ‘Jaskier would it make you feel better if I said it was on sale?’ 

‘Yeah, it would.’ 

‘It was clearance, cost me barely anything.’ 

‘Okay good, lie to me if it makes me feel better.’ 

‘I will’, Geralt had rubbed the omega’s back until he stopped crying. He’d made a note to himself to always tell Jaskier his gifts were cheap, even if they were $100 nesting bundles. In Geralt’s mind it was worth it, to see Jaskier tie the bundle to feel each piece, cotton, flannel, fuzzy material that Jaskier rubbed against his lips repeatedly until he hauled it all to his room with a big smile. 

And then New Years and Jaskier sent Geralt a selfie, covered in glitter and glow sticks under a blanket of confetti and fireworks, right at 12:01. Geralt had saved the photo, he didn’t know why, but the big smile on the omega’s face and the way his cheeks were crimson red and eyes drunk dilated, it made Geralt’s heart jump. He didn’t mention it to Eskel or Lambert when they asked why he was smiling at his phone during their poker game.  

Then Valentine’s Day which was the worst because Jaskier was supposed to be in heat but he’d just started new hormonal heat aids, which supposedly were supposed to keep his cramps at bay, and they were making him crazy. He sobbed into a gallon of ice cream on the couch, covered in piles of blankets, watching some disgustingly cheesy romance movie with Brad Pitt.

Geralt was trying to finish a spreadsheet but each time he heard the omega sob, it felt like his heart was being ripped out, making him hurt. So he was out on the couch soon enough, rubbing the omega’s back as he cried and babbled about how the medicine wasn’t working and his stomach hurt and his head hurt and he felt starving and he was getting fat and a million other things. Geralt just shushed him and didn’t say anything. Eventually Jaskier calmed down and fell asleep there on the sofa, leaving his empty tub of ice cream and spoon on the side table. Geralt put pillows behind his head, wiped his sticky face and hands with a damp paper towel, and turned the tv and lights off. It made Geralt feel better, even though he kept his door open, headphones half off. Just until Jaskier dragged himself to bed. 

They liked living together, they liked having each other around. Just as roommates, as friends, as… whatever they were. They respected each other, never going into each other's bedrooms, Geralt never going into the omega’s nest and Jaskier never stepping foot in the alpha’s den. They didn’t talk about Yennefer or Jaskier’s heats. 

They pretended to not hear each other’s personal dramatics. Jaskier pretending to never hear Geralt’s phone calls with Yennefer or the late night binges on the candy he had stashed above the fridge. And Geralt never hearing the noises that came from Jaskier’s bathroom at 3am.  

It was easy, it was a silent arrangement that worked. 

Until it changed.

[dragonsandwolvesohmy]

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!!!

[eskelsgirl]

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,

[bambirex]

The final chapter of my Mamma Mia AU was just posted! I'm almost getting emotional, it's been a year of writing a silly crackfic that I often used as therapy when I wasn't feeling well enough to write anything else, and overall it was just a lot of fun!

[hegorys]

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

[kayte-overmoon]

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.”

[ficsforfundota]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Additional Tags: Omegaverse, Witcher Bows and Arrows Valentine's Day Event, omega Jaksier, Alpha Geralt, Knotting, Biting, some blood, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Nesting, Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Vaginal Sex, Clit Play, Rough Sex, jaskier needs Geralt bad, i love them your honor, writing prompts, Mating Bond, Bond bites, Licking, bottom jaskier, top geralt Series: Part 57 of Alpha/Omega/Beta, Part 18 of Feburary events Summary:

Jaskier’s gone into heat and needs his alpha to help him quench his needs

Omegas have female anatomy regardless of gender :) Witcher bows and arrows nsfw Mate

[cyberrat]

89th Batch Of Fics: 8th Fill

Geralt/Gaetan/Jaskier – Part 2/4 – a/b/o; alpha!Geralt; alpha!Gaetan; omega!Jaskier; hurt/comfort; magic healing dick – Geralt and Jaskier slowly but surely wrap Gaetan up in their little net. Is it a trap when they only have the best intentions?

---

It’s a low blow, maybe, but despite his vague acknowledgement of such, Geralt has yet to find an argument to himself that would really stick about why indulging in Jaskier’s proclivities was wrong.

Omega were, in general, eager to provide. Jaskier has twisted it into some kind of perversion that had hit Geralt unprepared but had been, in hindsight, not unsurprising. Jaskier wants to provide. Not just some vague little trilling and puttering around a home to make it a warm little nest.

He throws himself into it with all he has and doesn’t stop until the Alpha is a whining mess.

Geralt can see Gaetan’s eyes widen in alarm as the Omega starts moving, shoulders hunched and face probably rather intense. He propels himself past Jaskier before the Alpha can draw his blades.

There’s a scuffle and a lot of growling and hissing as Gaetan, taken by surprise, tries to twist out from beneath Geralt’s heavy bulk.

The other Alpha is smaller and lighter, though not less dense with muscle. He’s a model student of the school of the cat. The burst of anxious anger is acrid on Geralt’s tongue, lips folding back in a snarl.

“At ease,” he croons at the struggling Alpha. If he had not been struggling with his wounds from the massacre, it would have been impossible to subdue him as fast as he does now. Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to get his hands on him at all. As it is, he rolls them until he’s on his back with Gaetan on his front, an arm curled around the other Alpha’s throat. “Calm,” he whispers into his ear. “He will not hurt you.”

There’s a low growl of denial – the notion of an Omega hurting him scratching his pride – that tapers off into a squeaky little thing as Jaskier takes a few steps closer. His gaze is, as Geralt had thought, intense.

The flush on his cheeks has crawled down his throat and is probably warming up his tits beneath their generous carpet of fur. Geralt has yet to meet an Omegan man that is as hairy as Jaskier. It’s an oddly endearing quality.

Jaskier looks like he is unaware of the powerful Alphas struggling. He’s just staring at them, mulling something over in his head slowly like inspecting a timeless vase. He hums, melodious and trilling but nice and throaty. Almost a growl but not quite.

He goes down on his knees, Geralt kicking his own legs – and Gaetan’s – apart to let him nestle on the ground between their thighs. Gaetan has stopped his struggle enough that Geralt slowly stops choking him. He moves his arm until he only has his hand wrapped around the Alpha’s throat, ready to restrain him again if he were to become aggressive toward Jaskier after all.

Gaetan isn’t exhibiting aggression, though. His scent is a complex mixture of things as he lifts his head and just peers down his body in quiet interest, staring at the Omega.

Jaskier reaches out, grabbing a hold of Gaetan’s thickly muscled thighs and letting his fingers dance up, across his hips toward the fastenings of his pants. “Poor Alpha,” he croons. The tops of his ears are brick red. Geralt can smell the blood pumping fast and sweet through his veins and from the way Gaetan starts to squirm, the other Alpha is very much aware of it as well.

Geralt growls low and soothing right into the witcher’s ear. His tongue flicks out, lapping at the lobe. He can taste a speck of blood and has no idea if it’s Gaetan’s or one of his victims’. It doesn’t matter. Not when Jaskier is fumbling to get Gaetan’s pants open and practically falls forward face first, nuzzling into the open fly and noisily inhaling his scent right from the source.

Both witchers still, staring down at the Omega and listening to his throaty groan at the thick scent of cock and sweat.

Gaetan groans something; it sounds like a prayer but Geralt is not familiar with the language. The other’s hands are reaching down but he does not dare touch the soft hair of the Omega. Since Jaskier always keeps himself in the background to keep his hands as clean as possible while Geralt does the dirty work, he is absolutely pristine compared to the Alphas watching him with rapt attention.

It looks like Gaetan has the same qualms of disturbing that cleanliness as Geralt always has. There is something oddly… sacred about a perfectly hale Omega.

“What… is this?” Gaetan grits out between his teeth. Geralt can feel him subtly arching his back, shoulder blades pressing into Geralt’s chest and hips helplessly lifting as Jaskier starts to peel his tight pants down so he can rub his cheeks against the sweaty, half-hard Alpha dick inside. He’s trilling with satisfaction.

“Fascinating, is it not?” Geralt growls softly, his warm breath fanning against the top of the shorter Alpha’s head. He can feel Gaetan shudder in his arms. He has stopped struggling and Geralt has stopped restraining him. His arms around the cat witcher’s shoulders and chest is now just a comforting hug as he lets him struggle and squirm and rub the muscled swell of his ass against his slowly growing cock.

Geralt continues softly: “He loves this. It’s mesmerizing to watch.” Yellow eyes slide from the shell of Gaetan’s slowly flushing ear down to Jaskier who has managed to pull Gaetan’s pants down enough to let his cock spring free. He looks delirious as he opens his plump lips and is about to suckle the other’s cock down his throat. “What is it you call it?” he asks before Jaskier’s mouth is too full to talk.

The Omega’s eyes slowly travel up Gaetan’s body, briefly stilling on the sight of his armor soaked with blood where the pitchfork slid in mercilessly. When he finally looks up to both of them, he looks already cock drunk without having done anything yet. Gaetan makes a soft sound at the back of his throat.

“A s-s-savior complex,” Jaskier slurs.

Gaetan grunts, confused and Geralt shrugs one shoulder. He lowers his voice to murmur: “He just loves taking care of hurt Alphas.”

Another questioning grunt. Gaetan seems to have trouble wrapping his head around any of it, and Geralt does not fault him. No amount of training can prepare a man for Jaskier on a mission. How sweet his Omegan trills are as he coos about a hurt Alpha and snuggles himself down between his legs like the sweetest little treat.

How dark and honeyed his eyes look when he looks up and holds Gaetan’s gaze as he slowly opens his mouth nice and wide for dick.

Gaetan becomes very still. Geralt doesn’t think he is even breathing at that point, but he lets him be. Lets him figure it all out as he starts to carefully rock his own hips up, rubbing his bulge back and forth against the other Alpha’s ass.

For now, Gaetan is nice and docile. He must not be noticing the advances of another Alpha for how focused he is on Jaskier. That’s alright. Geralt is used to it.

This is not the first time he and Jaskier take an Alpha into their midst, after all.

[thedemonofcat]

First time trying to come up with an idea in the Omegaverse.

Jaskier is considered rare among Omega for several reasons, which sets him apart from the norm. Firstly, he is a male Omega, a rarity in itself, as male Omegas are not very common. Due to their scarcity, male Omegas have often been treated as precious gems, valued for their uniqueness. Jaskier's gender alone makes him stand out among his peers.

Moreover, Jaskier possesses qualities that deviate from the stereotypical traits associated with Omega individuals. He is known for being headstrong and exceptionally talkative, which contrasts with the expected demeanor of a docile and reserved Omega

Interestingly, all the qualities that make Jaskier different from other Omegas are the very reasons why Geralt is deeply enamored with him. As an alpha, Geralt is often seen as the epitome of Alpha characteristics, except for the fact that he is a Witcher. The Witcher mutations have bestowed upon Geralt the genetic traits of an alpha, making him a unique blend of both human and monster.

Despite their individual oddities, Geralt and Jaskier have formed a remarkable bond as mates

One day, Jaskier woke up feeling unwell, experiencing bouts of morning sickness. Concerned for his mate's well-being, Geralt decided to take Jaskier to see Yennefer. Little did they know, Yennefer had a surprising revelation waiting for them—by some miraculous twist of fate, Jaskier was pregnant.

Given that witchers were believed to be sterile, Geralt never anticipated the possibility of Jaskier becoming pregnant. Nevertheless, Jaskier was content with the idea, considering his life as a traveling bard made it challenging to raise a child. However, Yennefer believed that destiny had played a hand in this situation, decreeing that Geralt and Jaskier should embrace their roles as parents.

Geralt and Jaskier experienced a mixture of nerves and excitement at the prospect of becoming parents. However, their joy was short-lived as they soon discovered the alarming truth—numerous individuals were relentlessly pursuing their unborn baby

In this unprecedented occurrence of a witcher baby, the belief spread that the child would possess unparalleled power, surpassing any known beings. A group with nefarious intentions devised a plan to kidnap Jaskier, intending to hold him captive until the baby was born and subsequently raise the child as their new leader. They were even prepared to eliminate Jaskier if he refused to comply with their demands after the baby's birth.

Before assuming the name Jaskier, he was known as Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. Jaskier had fled his home to escape the clutches of his controlling parents, who, despite hearing about Jaskier's pregnancy, adamantly refused to recognize Geralt as his mate. Jaskier's parents harbored intentions of arranging a marriage between him and a wealthy Alpha Lord, solely for the sake of social status and riches.

Moreover, the kingdom of Nilfgaard, in their ongoing efforts to coerce Ciri, Geralt's child surprise , into their grasp, recognized Jaskier as a potential bargaining chip. Consequently, their interest in capturing Jaskier intensified, surpassing their previous pursuits.

Now on the run, desperate to ensure the safety of their unborn child, Geralt is willing to go to any lengths to protect his beloved Jaskier. Together, they make their way towards Kaer Morhen, seeking refuge and the support of the other witchers.

However, the magical nature of the baby begins to pose problems. Jaskier's pregnancy progresses at an astonishing rate, with his belly growing larger by the day, making their arduous journey even more challenging. Walking becomes a struggle with Jaskier's prominent pregnant belly, and the fact that he is a male omega further complicates their ability to hide and remain inconspicuous.

To add to their concerns, it is discovered that the baby carries witcher mutations in its genes. As Jaskier's health deteriorates, Geralt's fears intensify, dreading the possibility that Jaskier may not survive the process of giving birth to a witcher child

[eggcompany]

Julian On My Knees Part 9 (ENDING)

“Julian? Julian, it’s me.” Geralt announced as he hung up his coat and kicked away his shoes. The drive had been hours straight, he’d only stopped twice. He just wanted to get home, his mind so quiet for the first time in so long. Like the pieces of a puzzle finally finding their homes, the picture coming together for the first time. 

He ended up in front of the omega’s bedroom door, letting his eyes close as he reached for the doorknob. He took a big breath. 

“Julian, can I come in?” Geralt asked, speaking clearly, making sure if Julian was in his nest, he could hear. He listened and heard a sniffle before an answer. 

“’M yucky” The boy whimpered from beyond the door, but not the closet. Geralt kept his hand on the doorknob. He wanted to brush away the omega’s tears, wanted to make him feel better. He knew the closure medication made him feel strange, all itchy and irritable, moody. He wanted to go and hold his omega close, make him smell sweet from relaxation and comfort, wanted to make his omega know it was a mistake. 

“Can I come in, puppy?” The alpha asked, deep voice rolling from him at the thought of the omega’s crying face and pitiful whimpers. It hurt his chest, Julian was never ‘yucky’. No matter what. 

“I’m all… gross and dizzy” Jaskier said as his throat tightened around the words. He felt gross, and the bottle of wine he’s been drowning himself in for the past hour was making him even worse. Geralt would surely kick him out if the alpha saw him in this state.  

“Julian, can I come into your nest? I don’t care if you’re dizzy or yucky. I want to see you and make sure my puppy is okay.” Geralt said, forehead pressing into the wood of the door as if he could just go through it. He could open the door, barge in, but that wasn’t who he was. He never wanted to overstep the boundaries when it came to his omega, and even with his thundering heart, he held back. 

“Your puppy?” Jaskier asked, eyes casting toward the door. It wasn’t locked. He could see it wasn’t locked. 

“You’re my puppy, I’m house alpha. You need to say I can come in or you need to say you’re okay and go to bed. Understand that Julian?” Geralt explained, hand wrapping around the brass of the doorknob, knuckles turning color under the pressure. There was a pause, just a few breaths of silence. 

“You can come in. Only if-if you um help me with it all, please Mister Rivia” Jaskier finally decided, eyes getting watery once again, throat making the end come out half choked and squeaky. He wanted his alpha, wanted someone to fix him. He was alpha’s puppy, alpha’s sweetheart, alpha’s. 

Geralt had the door open, eyes searching the boy who was laying on his bed in nothing but a pair of soaked boxers, bed scattered with candy wrappers and a half empty wine bottle. Jaskier’s hands were wrapped around the bottle, his knees picking up to curl up towards his body, as if to hide. Geralt took in a small sniff of the scent that was suffocating the room, it smelled a bit savory, made his stomach clench but he didn’t mind. His omega would be smelling happier soon. 

“I’m yucky.” Jaskier said and looked away, suddenly feeling every inch of his skin, his dirty hair, his ruined undershorts, the smell that was rolling off him like boiling noodles and eggs. It was gross, he hated it, but the medicine changed the way he smelled. Brought the open screw top wine bottle up to his lips, the opening near his nose, its light scent making him feel a little better, and the cool glass against his lips felt nice. 

Geralt sighed, his heart racing in his chest but calmer, less like a heart attack. He sat down on the edge of the bed, snack wrappers crunching under him as he did. Julian flashed him a look, keeping himself pulled away. 

“Yeah… you are. I think you should come take a bath.” Geralt said and ran his fingers through the greasy mop of hair Jaskier was growing out. The omega hummed and leaned into that broad warm palm. 

“I don’t wanna shower, wanna lay here, drink, cry a little.” Jaskier said and moved the wine bottle back for another drink. Geralt tsked him, pulling the wine bottle away, setting it on the omega’s bedside as Jaskier whined but didn’t reach for it again. Jaskier pouted, looking up at the alpha, hoping he would just… just something. He wanted anything the alpha would give him. 

Geralt swallowed and looked at the big fuzzy blue eyes that were pinned to him. He liked those eyes, like how they always seemed to sparkle, like there was something always happening behind them, even when Julian was out of it. 

“You’re getting a bath in my room. With me. I’m going to wash you.” Geralt said slowly. Keeping himself steeled to the chance of rejection from the younger man. He left enough room for the boy to act disgusted, to let off a scent of fear. Geralt would be okay with it, he told himself that at least, that if Juian didn’t want it, it would be fine.

“In your bath? In your den?” Jaskier asked, confused as he sat up, looking closer at the alpha’s face. He didn’t think he heard right. To go in the alpha’s dean, to his private bathroom, his space. It was- It would mean something. But here his alpha was, sitting on his heat bed, having come home in a hurry. Just for him. Jaskier got a weird feeling in his chest at that. 

“You can come take a bath, it’ll make you feel better. You can sleep in my bed or here. Once you’re all cleaned up and dry.” Geralt said and watched as the gears screeched to a stop in the omega’s head. He reached out and tucked some of Julian’s hair behind his ear, preferring being able to see his face. He’d not shaved in a few days, Geralt noted, he’d noticed his scruffy face but now it seemed almost tempting to take his own razor to it. 

When Jaskier just kept looking at him, he spoke again. 

“I’m looking after you. Bath?” Geralt stated clearly and Jaskier blinked slowly a few times before looking at his own bed. 

“In your bed? My bed? Together? In the same bed?” Jaskier asked, head spinning as he looked at his disaster of a bed. It was only a full size, and the candy wrappers and crumbs and the dark spots where wine had spilled or slick had leaked from his underpants. He couldn’t possibly have his alpha there. Couldn’t- Mister Rivia was gonna sleep with him? Jaskier felt a little dizzy. 

“Yes Julian, together on the same bed. If you want.” Geralt said and then left it open, trying to be careful as he stood up from the bed. He wanted to get the omega clean and happy already, wanted to get his arms wrapped around his happy omega already. 

“I can’t nest with you, my nest’s too… yucky. I’m a bad omega, you know that. Never do it right.” Jaskier said and moved to get out from under his blankets, shame coming heavy onto him. He let his legs hang off the side of his bed, eyes going to the crumb covered carpet under him. He couldn’t even keep his own room clean. 

Geralt noticed and lifted the omega's chin up, forefinger gently raising his face up to be able to look him in the eye. 

“You’re a good omega. You smell good, when you’re clean. You’re kind and thoughtful. You keep the house clean, you made it so nice for me didn’t you? The flowers, the pictures, you made it nice didn’t you?” Geralt asked, watching as Julian listened, his brain taking a moment longer to process the praise. He pulled the omega to his feet, an arm around his waist to support him. Julian leaned onto him leaning against his torso, head going to his shoulder 

“Yeah, but I thought you didn’t like it. Never say anything ‘bout it.” Jaskier mumbled as they walked through the living room, his eyes going to the art he’d hung, the flowers on the kitchen counter. Geralt had never really said anything about them, never said anything nice like Eskel did. Never said anything bad either though. 

“I like it, Jaskier, just like I like you.” Geralt confessed and Julian smiled and his scent turned sweeter. Jaskier felt happy in his heart. He also felt a little drunk. A little wobbly on his legs and a little dizzy. 

Julian followed Geralt to his bedroom door and to his en-suite. It was plain with a big tub. Geralt was always minimalist but the stack of plain grey towels and matching washcloths made the bathroom disorienting for Jaskier but at the same time the scent that stuck to every surface settled in his brain. 

“Smell like you.” Jaskier said as he drowsily picked up a towel, holding it to his nose. He took in long breaths as he leaned against the wall next to the towel rack. 

Geralt huffed a laugh and filled the tub with hot but not burning water. He was careful as he filled the water keeping an eye on the omega. He liked having the omega in his space, liked having him near, liked getting to finally care for him wholly. 

“It’s my den. It should smell like me.” Geralt said and Julian made a squeaky noise, thighs rubbing together. It made him fall off his own feet, losing his balance. Geralt was quick to move, holding onto the omega’s forearms to support him. 

Geralt looked into his eyes, still unsure of his own footing, unsure if this would be regretted later or not. He reached down and pulled lightly at the bottom hem of Jaskier’s dirty sweatshirt. 

“Off?” Geralt asked quietly, nearly breathing the word out. He watched as Julian thought for a moment before letting the towel drop from his hand. 

Jaskier lifted his arms up letting the alpha pull the fabric up and off. Geralt let the hoodie fall to the floor, eyes roaming over the omega’s bared chest, bared hairy chest with lovely muscles and lovelier fat covering them. He swallowed thickly, controlling himself as the sweetness of the omega’s scent dug deeper into his own head. He watched as Julian kept their eyes together as he shoved his shorts down his legs leaving him in a pair of blue and black striped briefs. His jaw clenched as he was hit with the raw scent of not only dried slick, but fresh slick. 

“Is it ugly?” Jaskier asked, hands wanting to cover himself, but also preening under the alpha’s warm gaze. It felt good to be looked at with Geralt’s warm scent encasing him like a blanket. It was heavy in the air, comforting and warm like the steam that was starting to float around them. 

Geralt looked away, his heart thundering louder than his own thoughts. He looked at the full tub, stepping over to turn the water off before grabbing a few towels from beside the omega who was still standing there waiting. Waiting to hear what alpha had to say. 

“Not ugly, Julian. Pretty, such a pretty omega. You’re so fucking pretty.” Geralt said, the last words clawing their way up his throat as he leaned in close to the omega, feeling the warmth radiating off his body. Jaskier gasped as Geralt was so close, their faces so close as their noses just skimmed together. He wanted so badly to lean forward just the breath it would take to press their lips together, his eyes fluttering shut as their breath mingled together. 

But Geralt was leaning back and leaving the bathroom. 

“Get in the bath, Julian. I’ll be back.” Geralt said and left to throw the towels into the dryer to warm them. He just needed to keep his head level enough. Just until Julian was solid and sober and happy. Then… Then he could let go. Just not yet. 

Jaskier huffed and blinked, his belly warm with want but suppressed from his medicine. He pushed his soggy underwear away and climbed into the tub gracelessly. He moaned as the hot water reached deep down to his bones. He leaned back until just his face was out of the water, mind going blank as he enjoyed the luxury of the alpha's amenities. He’d not gotten a nice bath in too long, omega's were meant for long luxurious baths, and he felt it at his core. 

Geralt returned as Jaskier scrubbed at his body hair, getting the dried slick and his own body odor off his body. He found a bottle of something soap and it smelled faintly like cedar, like the alpha's beautiful hair. He liked it. Liked smelling like his alpha. 

He set down the freshly warmed towels and watched as the omega's scrubbed at his legs, enjoying the way his hands moved up and down nails tracking lines in his hair before the water soothed it back down. 

Jaskier finally looked over, seeing his alpha, it spooked him, having gotten lost in his own head. He jumped some of the sudsy water splashing over the side. 

“Calm down Julian.” Geralt said and smiled as the omega drew his knees to his chest and hid his face. He was feeling all weird and he was still kinda drunk but the water sloshing around him made him feel a bit seasick. But his closers were hitting him hard, his heat rushing to an end like a train out of control. It was making him all jumpy and warm and his cock was thick and heavy in the water hidden under the bubbles. 

“I can’t, I’m all buzzy inside. It’s the rush before my closers finish up. I want it so bad just once just-just-” and then Jaskier turned green. Geralt pulled him up and over so his face was over the toilet bowl just in time for the alcohol to empty his stomach. He was half out the tub, one hand on the edge, one on the floor, ass up out of the water as he gagged and groaned, 

“Oh I’m so sorry, I’m sorry Geralt” he apologized, his voice echoing against the porcelain. He hurt. His head, his stomach, his hip where he slammed into the edge of the tub. 

“It’s okay puppy. Let’s get you out.” Geralt said and eased Jaskier out of the tub to kneel by the toilet on the bathmat, quickly covering him with the warm towels.  

Jaskier gagged up a few more times before Geralt guided him to the sink to rinse his mouth and gargle mouthwash. He was shaking a bit but Geralt used the second towel to dry him off, his hair and legs and the omega dried his torso. The alpha wasn’t grossed out as he flushed away the evidence as the omega dried off. He’d dealt with too much baby yuck be bothered by puke anymore. 

“I’m disgusting, I'm so sorry, Mister Rivia, I’m so sorry.” Julian said as humiliation boiled tears up into his eyes. He scrubbed at his face with one of the towels as the alpha moved around him. 

“Sh sh sh, calm down. Here, put these on and get in bed.” Geralt said and handed the boy a pair of his own boxers and a hoodie. He had some sweatpants held out as well but Jaskier forwent them in favor of crawling into the alpha’s bed. Geralt didn’t try to stop Jaskier as he flopped onto his bed. 

“This is daddy’s bed.” Jaskier said as his brain was growing fuzzier and fuzzier, as he was hit with the most pungent hit of his alpha’s scent. It was richer, had more of a tinge of something raw and masculine that Jaskier never caught from Geralt. It was amazing. 

Geralt smiled and watched Jaskier roll around on the mattress, shoving his face into the bedding and holding one of the two pillows that resided there. He moved to stand at the side of the bed and listen to the hums and satisfied sounds the omega was letting out. 

“It’s my bed, Julian. Is this okay?” Geralt asked as he moved to lay down on the opposite side of the bed. He waited, blankets raised up, one knee on the mattress, waiting. 

Jaskier looked up from his heaven, of cottony heaven, at his alpha. Beautiful alpha who was still in his dress shirt and slacks, belt forgone. He was then hit with the fact he was in his daddy’s den, in daddy’s bed, with his daddy. 

“You… your bed. This is your bed. Oh, I’m sleeping in your bed?” Jaskier asked and he hugged the pillow in his arms, head resting on the other covered in the sheet and comforter that was the perfect weight. He’d never been so comfortable in his life. 

“Can you sleep in my bed with me?” Geralt asked with a small smile, it was amusing, and he’d slept in worse conditions than in his dress clothes. Especially when there was a cake scented omega with wandering hands waiting in his bed.

“Yes please” Jaskier said and smiled as Geralt turned the bedside light off, and then from his phone the big light, leaving them in the cozy darkness. Jaskier was asleep before the big night clicked off, before Geralt had the chance to say a word.

---

Geralt woke up, mind barely starting to wake. ‘Where’s the omega? Is he warm?’ His first thoughts landed on the omega, he blinked his eyes open. ‘Did he sleep okay? Does he like my den?’ Geralt finally cracked his eyes open, the sunlight filtering through his grey curtains, the thoughts were swiftly swept away. 

All concerns washed away once he realized the weight on his chest, the drooling wetness that was sliding down his shoulder, was his omega sleeping atop him, resting peacefully. Geralt took a deep breath, taking in the warm scent that was clouding around them, it was nice, sweet and lemony, iced lemon bread. Geralt smiled as he finally found what that scent reminded him of, iced lemon bread. 

Jaskier was laying half on him, their chests pressed together, the omega almost diagonal on the bed. The hoodie he’d borrowed to sleep in had ridden up, bunched up around his sternum, exposing the length of his back down to the line of the loose boxers wagging his hips. It was sweet, Geralt thought. His own shirt had come unbuttoned at the top and he’d kicked off his slacks in the night. It felt nice, to be close to his omega, easy and comfortable. 

He reached up, his hand going to Julian’s bare back, roaming over the muscle, the smooth skin, up under the hoodie to feel the crests of his shoulder blades. He indulged, relaxed and warm, letting the omega’s scent soothe him, his hands going from Julian’s shoulders down to just above his boxers, down his sides. He didn’t mind the drool that was cool on his shoulder, not when the warm even puffs of breath coasted over it. He savoured it as the sun rose higher, the room slowly getting brighter. 

Julian started to shift, just moving slightly. Geralt kept his hand still, laying the dip of the omega’s waist, not wanting to wake him up. He just watched, the sweet, peaceful look on Julian’s face as he slept, eyelashes cast down, soft lips half open, Geralt thought he looked perfect. 

And then Jaskier snored, snorted, and woke up with a jerk. Drool half dried fusing the fabric of Geralt’s dress shirt to his cheek, a peeling sound rang out as he sat up, hair half stuck straight up in the air, crusty eyes blinking blearily as he looked around the sunlit room. He reached up, rubbing his eyes, lips smacking as he rewetted his dry mouth. He took a long minute to yawn and just sit up a bit, one hand planted on Geralt’s chest before looking down at the alpha. 

“Am I awake?” He asked and reached out to touch Geralt’s face, poking his nose, petting over his face with his entire hand. He kept blinking, not sure if he really was awake, his head kinda hurt and he was thirsty, but he had weird dreams sometimes. 

Geralt took his wrist, stilling his hand, to kiss his palm. 

“You’re awake.” Geralt said and threaded their fingers together. It was gentle, taking the omega’s slim yet strong hand in his own, his own thick fingers intertwining his Julian’s narrow skillful ones. 

“I slept in your bed?” Jaskier asked, looking down at the tangle of blankets around their legs, the pillows he’d hogged all night. He felt his face heat up a bit, but Geralt was peppering kisses over his fingers, drawing his attention back to the alpha. 

“Mhm” Geralt hummed and laid his other hand on Julian’s hip. He could finally offer, finally lay everything out on the table. Either Julian would be okay with it, as a spiced scent started to wake up and spread through the air, or he would leave. Geralt couldn’t take another day without… Without. 

“This is- we’re doing this? It’s-it’s okay?” Julian asked, pulling their hands away from the alpha’s face, pulling away to sit up fully, keeping their hands together. Geralt followed him, sitting up, leaning forward, their foreheads pressing together, lips a breath away. 

“Is this?” Geralt asked as he reached out, hand finding the omega’s jaw. Julian looked into his eyes and gave the smallest jerk of his head, the tiniest nod. Geralt leaned forward, finally sealing their lips together in a gentle but firm press. 

Jaskier gasped at first, eyes wide open and crossing as he tried to look at where the alpha’s soft lips were pressing against his own. He tried to kiss back, hands scrambling from Geralt’s shoulders, to his hair, to the scruffy sides of his face, finally twisting the wrinkled fabric of his shirt. It was a little overwhelming, his heart pounded in his ears as each second felt like an hour. 

He kissed back, eyes burning as he realized finally- Finally he got to know what his alpha felt like. The warmth of Geralt’s hands where they held onto his hip, wrapped around the back of his neck, his warm lips moving against his own, slow and easy. Finally getting to know how his alpha felt, how he tasted. 

And then Julian pulled back, throwing himself away from Geralt’s lips as he realized he’d thrown up before going to bed, having only rinsed his mouth out, having not brushed his teeth. He made a sound of mortification, hand coming up to shield Geralt from his horrible morning breath. 

Geralt panicked thinking he did something, heart dropping through the floor as he watched Jaskier rush to get untangled from the blankets. Did Julian realize who he kissed? Did he not realize? Was it a mistake? Was it all a mistake? Did he-

“I didn’t brush my teeth! Oh my god, I just look horrible! Hold on!” Jaskier whinged as he rushed to the ensuite. He looked into the mirror and threw his hands in the air whining in frustration, running back through the bedroom

“Not my bathroom! Hold on!” He yelled as he ran into his own bathroom, feet slipping on the wood floor as he slung himself into his own bathroom, slamming the door behind him. 

Geralt cracked up laughing. He didn’t laugh a lot, it was just something that didn’t come easy to him. But watching his omega scramble around in his clothes in his house just woken up from his bed to brush his teeth so they could better kiss each other, it made him laugh. He just felt a spark in his chest. 

He finished unbuttoning his shirt, getting out of bed. He tossed the drool covered thing to the side as he made his way to the bathroom. He stretched in the doorway, a grin on his face. He went through his usual morning routine in the bathroom, taking an extra moment to make sure he was freshened up without a shower. He finished by looking at himself in the mirror, taking a moment to look over his own body, flexing a bit, pleased with the way he looked. 

He put on a fresh pair of boxers and made his way to the omega’s bathroom door. He leaned in close to listen, hearing the faint noise from the shower being on. He was a little flattered, a light feeling in his chest. 

“Julian?” He called through the door and heard something being knocked over, a shampoo bottle probably. 

“Yes?” The omega called out shakily, drawing his hand away from his hole. He’d been trying to get clean, trying to make sure he smelled nice and was perfect. Perfect for his alpha. Had to make it worth Geralt’s while. He was just a little overwhelmed, brain unable to really wrap around what they were doing. 

“Takes you that long to brush your teeth?” Geralt said a joking lift to his voice. Julian heard it and relaxed a bit, his alpha wasn’t rushing around, in a hurry to shove him into a mattress. He wouldn’t just lose interest if Jaskier needed a moment. He turned the shower off. 

“No. No, it doesn’t.” Jaskier said back, a spark of confidence as he toweled himself off, taking a moment to shave his face smooth, forgoing a hair brushing, leaving his hair half damp and towel wavy. He took a few breaths while looking at himself in the mirror, standing there, dressed in his alpha’s loose boxer shorts and his stretched out hoodie. Perfect, it was perfect. 

Geralt went back to his room, leaving the omega to do what he needed in private. He sat back on his bed, tidying the bed back, a habit he couldn’t kick, and stacking his pillows up behind him. He growled and flumped back against the pillows, hands rubbing over his face. Was he making a mistake? Was Julian sure? Was he sure? What was he doing, he was too old for the omega. He was mated, he shouldn’t be acting so desperate. He was holding the handsome young omega back from finding someone who would be good for him or- 

Geralt was deep into his own spiral, regret starting to sour his stomach, thoughts of how perverted he was for pining after such a beautiful omega like Julian, the omega snuck back into the bedroom. 

Jaskier smiled as he crawled onto the bed, straddling the alpha. He took Geralt’s wrists and pulled his hands away from his face. 

“Okay, now more.” Julian said with a smile, leaning down to seal their lips together once again. Geralt indulged letting the omega hum happily, lips parting to let the alpha in. But Geralt pulled back, second guessing himself. 

Jaskier groaned unhappily as Geralt looked between them, at their hands where they were clasped together. He looked at the day his boxers billowed around the omega’s soft thighs, snug on waist, the sleeves of the hoodie too loose on the boy’s biceps but fit well on his shoulders. Young and perfect, skin unmarred so unlike his own. 

“Julian-” Geralt started, eyes going to the omega’s, starting to question if he really wanted it, but was cut off. 

“Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up. I’m getting what! I want this, this what I want. Give me what I want. No more waiting, no more words. Just shut up.” Julian said, over a year of frustrations, yearning, wanting, waiting, all boiling over. He was finally exactly where he wanted to be, in his alpha’s den, in his alpha’s lap, half naked and on. 

He glared at Geralt, serious as ever. The alpha just shook his head, a smile on the edge of his mouth. 

“Okay” Geralt said, unable to argue with his omega. 

It was perfect, just like Julian always dreamed it would be. Mister Rivia was so strong, solid bodied and so sure of himself, so sure when he licked across the seam of the omega’s lips. Experienced in a way that was so comforting. 

Julian gasped at the hot wet slide, letting his mouth fall open for his alpha. 

Geralt let his hands slide up Julian’s bare legs finally getting to feel his fill, feeling the coarse hair that covered plush thighs, feeling every inch all the way to the bottoms of the borrowed boxers. 

Jaskier was no better as his hands went up to grab fistfuls of the alpha’s hair, moaning as his bottom lip was nipped with sharp teeth, he let himself grab onto Geralt’s thick arms, feeling his spattering of scars, reaching to let his nails drag lightly down his back. Geralt hummed at the omega’s dull nails dragging across his skin, enjoying the groping. 

Jaskier finally settled, hands roaming over the alpha’s chest, his thick yet plump pec muscles, giving under his groping hands, down over his dense stomach muscles and darker happy trail. His hands feeling every rise or valley of scar, appreciating every inch. 

They pulled apart, Jaskier’s hands on Geralt’s shoulders, the alpha’s fingertips just under the bottom of the boxers covering Julian’s thighs. 

“I can touch you.” Geralt asked, breathing in the spiced candy scent in the air, the intoxicating scent of slick and arousal muddling his brain. Jaskier was panting, nodding his head and his hands pulled Geralt back in for more tongue filled kisses. 

Jaskier couldn’t hold back his moans, the alpha smelled so good, a new scent, something so deep and rich he couldn’t begin to try it out words to it, but it made him feel drunker than blackout. He wanted more, his tongue slid against the alpha's. He pushed their bodies together. 

“Touch me, fuck me, gods, please alpha please” Jaskier begged, catching his breath as Geralt moved kissing down his neck, inching closer to his scent gland. 

Geralt was more than willing, happy to oblige. He licked across the omega’s scent gland, getting dizzy on pheromones, and slid his hands under the hem of the omega’s boxers, grabbing his ass, pulling their hips together. 

Jaskier moaned, his cock hard and sensitive grinding down against the solid stone line of the alpha’s own erection. He pushed at Geralt’s chest weakly. 

“Too much- too many- naked. Naked.” He panted, pushing himself off Geralt’s lap with little grace. He yanked his borrowed hoodie off, kicking away the boxers. He scrambled to get back in his alpha's lap who was trying to get his own underwear pulled off his legs. 

“C'mon c'mon daddy, I can take it” Jaskier begged, speaking against the alpha's lips. He reached for Geralt’s hand guiding it down between his legs to his wet hole. Geralt growled, teeth scraping across the sensitive gland. 

Jaskier cried out, hips stuttering, small cock, already leaking and wet, sliding beside Geralt’s in a hot glide. 

“Don’t wanna hurt you.” Geralt said as he let two of his fingers massage over the hot slick give of the omega's hole. Jaskier leaned against his shoulder, mouthing at his neck, opposite of his mate mark. He let himself press a few kisses to the alpha’s soft scent gland. 

“You won’t. Promise, promise you won’t hurt me. Please, meant for it, made for it. For you” Jaskier begged, craving the fill of a real cock, the feeling that was still so novel to him. He’d take anything, pain or not, he wanted everything his alpha was willing to give. 

Geralt groaned, he pulled back to look at the omega's face. Julian was red faced, blush creeping down his neck down to his hairy chest. Julian just looked at him, eyes fluttering shut, mouth hanging open as Geralt pressed those two fingers into him. He was amazed. It’s been so long since he’d got to have an omega. 

And Jaskier was perfect. He moaned lightly, his body opening up easily for Geralt’s fingers, a droplet of slick running down his fingers, down his wrist. The alpha craved to lick it up, get a taste, but that would be for later. Later he could indulge in his own cravings. 

“You’re so- fuck Julian” Geralt tried to put together words, say something nice. But Jaskier’s hole clenched up, pulling him in deeper. His cock twitched, the feeling of fucking a body that was made for it, that wanted it so desperately, he couldn’t begin to form words. 

Jaskier smiled, moving up and down on the alpha’s thick fingers. It felt good, rough pads rubbing against his sensitive insides, Geralt’s huffing breaths as he drove his alpha wild, it felt so good, every part of his brain was lighting up with the best chemicals. He wanted more though, wanted the big thick cock that was laying against his own meek erection. 

“Gonna fuck me? Wanna put it in?” Jaskier asked, voice low and rolling as he reached down to take ahold of his alpha’s cock. He squeaked, an involuntary noise as he wrapped his hand around the base, the rubbery feeling of the alpha’s knot, the burning hot flesh twitching as he slid his grip up to the wet tip. He looked down, watching as a pearly bead slid down the side, down to his own hand. 

“Fuck,” He whispered as he suddenly felt the weight of what he could finally have, what was given to him. Like the final thread being cut, the last of his sanity being washed away, his base wants, what he was taking over who he was. His hands trembled as he looked back up at Geralt’s face, the fingers inside of him, too little to quench the starvation deep in his body. 

“You’re gonna put it in, right? You’ll fuck me?” Jaskier asked, eyes big and shaky. Geralt nodded, of course he was going to, he’d give Julian anything he asked for. Jaskier moved closer, pressing their chests together, getting as close to his alpha as possible. He spoke directly into Geralt’s ear, voice wavering. 

“Now, I need it now Geralt, if you’re going to do it.” He begged, scent dropping into something less spiced candy to a much heavier thing, something that dug its way through Geralt’s brain, went straight to his body. Geralt pulled his fingers away, giving himself a squeeze and Jaskier whined, hips wiggling in desperation. 

“Condom?” Geralt asked but Jaskier was already reaching down, trying to hurry him and get filled. Jaskier whined and nipped at Geralt’s shoulder. 

“Fill me, fill me up, want it so much, fill me up, Alpha.” Jaskier begged, voice mumbled against the alpha’s skin. He was panting, taking in as much of his alpha’s scent as he could get, filling his lungs. 

Geralt guided them, pulled Julian’s hips until they were positioned over his cock, letting the omega have the control. He groaned as his tip just kissed the wet entrance of his omega. He didn’t get to savour that tease though. 

Jaskier dropped down, his legs spreading as his knees bent, their hips slamming together. Geralt moaned, his cock being enveloped by a slick tight heat like he’d never experienced, the heady scent of it all making him throw his head back, eyes closing, hands squeezing marks into Julian’s hips. 

Julian was quiet though, no whining, no fevered moans, just quiet. He sat there, mouth open, eyes open but so far away. He’d never really got to enjoy this part, the burst of everything when an cock reached all his tender parts, stretched him for the first time. It was better than anything else, the feeling of that first stretch that hit every gland, rubbed over his cervix, reached so deep. He just sat there, the burn in his legs was nothing compared to the pleasure that was rolling through him. He barely felt the alpha’s hands as they gently stroked up and down his sides. 

“Good, good omega, such a good omega, doing such a good job. Gods, Julian, what a good boy” Geralt praised as the omega got used to his cock. It was beautiful to see. The way Jaskier’s body relaxed, loose and warm, his eyes unfocused, his mind quieted. Geralt hugged him, wrapping his arms around his body. He never liked the fevered rough fucking he used to indulge in as a younger man, no, this, the warm embrace, slow and sensual, it was something he loved. 

“Daddy, alpha, inside” Jaskier mumbled, the words falling from his lips as he reached down to feel it himself, feel where they connected. Geralt hummed, nosing at Julian’s neck and shoulder, kissing and nipping softly. 

“Yeah, inside. I’m inside you, how it’s supposed to be.” Geralt reassured him, pulling back a few inches so he could kiss Julian’s lips and cheek. Jaskier whined, an airy noise as he squeezed his eyes shut, legs shaking as he tried to raise up, to get more of that good feeling again. He tried, but it was all so overwhelming, he couldn’t get his body to do what he wanted to.

“F-fuck me, daddy fuck me, you do it” He begged, tears prickling his eyes. His alpha was so smart though, and he didn’t need to think. Geralt shushed him and carefully, so carefully, kept them connected as he laid Jaskier back onto the bed. He was up on his arms over Jaskier as the omega laid on his back, knees bent. 

“That’s such a good boy, so fucking pretty, omega. I’m gonna take care of you.” Geralt said as he leaned over the omega, pushing at the backs of Julian’s thighs, guiding them up around his waist. Julian moaned, ankles locking around the alpha’s body, pulling him back in deep once again. 

Geralt pulled back, mouthing at Julian’s neck as he did, groaned when he thrust back in. He did a few more times, slowly eased back before pushing back in, enjoying the way Julian’s body made room for him so easily. But the way the omega was whining, withering against the bed, the scent that was clouding his brain, the pleasure that was encompassing his entire world, he wrapped his arms around his omega, holding them together. 

“Da-ddy, fuck me, fuck me” Jaskier begged, arms clawing at Geralt’s back, unable to put together a coherent thought. He wanted more, wanted everything. Geralt kissed his ear before whispering. 

“Don’t wanna hurt you, can’t- fuck- can’t hold back Julian” Geralt said, almost apologetically as he pulled back again, as far as he could with their bodies tangled together. Jaskier just whined, gasping as he was left empty deep inside again. 

Geralt thrust back in, hips snapping up into the omega, jerking the bed with the force. He let out a growl as he did it again, and again, leaving no room for complaints from Julian. Geralt chased his own needs, unable to stop or slow down, face shoved into his omega’s neck, swallowing down pure scent, tongue and teeth pulling more and more from the puffy little gland. 

Julian was gone, nails digging into his alpha’s back to hold on, his body was singing, every part was sparkling with pleasure. Their chests rubbed together, the rough texture of their chest hair dragging together stimulating his nipples in a way that made him crave a little more, the stretch of his muscles in his legs as they wrapped around his alpha’s waist left him aching for something, the deep rolling pleasure that was building deep inside his body with each thrust was something he’d never felt before. It all made him feel so alive, he couldn’t tell where his body ended and his alpha’s began, couldn’t tell if he was silent or screaming, couldn’t tell when an orgasm started or stopped. It was all rolling like molten gold, pleasure he would never be able to explain. 

He was finally where he was supposed to be, in the arms of an alpha who knew how to care for him, in the den of a man who loved him, who he loved. 

“I love you, I love you daddy, I love you I love you” Jaskier babbled as Geralt fucked him, tears rolling down his face. The alpha moved to kiss and lick the tears away, it would have been gross to Jaskier if he didn’t love the feeling. Knowing Geralt couldn’t stand to go far enough to wipe the tears away, needing to keep them pressed together as his thrusts got faster, a little rougher, a little off tempo. 

Geralt couldn’t force a word from his mouth, knowing he should. Knowing he should reassure the omega, tell him how much he loved him back, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t try and put the words together when he was so far from his own head. He was getting closer and closer to his orgasm, his knot firming up slightly but nowhere near filling. He was grateful for that, not knowing if Julian was ready for that or not. 

“Love you, love you alpha, love you, please, please, ple-ease” Jaskier said as his tears rolled down his cheeks, his body trembling as each thrust drove him from the good overwhelming pleasure to the point of painful overstimulation. He felt good, slick puddling under him, tears rolling down his face, cock giving pitiful little spurts of cum with each thunderous wrack of pleasure. 

Geralt held him tight, a few tight bucking thrusts and he was coming, buried to the base in his omega, he let go. He moaned, a deep noise that came from his chest, pump after pump, staying deep inside. There was something biting in his head that made him hold Julian there, hold his loose body still as the omega went limp. He was panting, catching his breath as his cock gave one last twitch, the last few drops filling his omega. 

“I love you Julian, so much. Wanted you for so long, thought about you constantly, wanted this for so long.” Geralt confessed, finally letting the omega know how much he was wanted, how much Geralt truly wanted him. Geralt sat up, just enough to see Jaskier’s teary face. Jaskier sniffled and brought a hand up to wipe at his face before shoving his other one at Geralt’s stupid handsome face. 

“Stupid, I've wanted it since I moved in. Why didn’t you just take me?” Jaskier said, voice scratchy and used up. Geralt just looked down at him in disbelief. And then groaned and leaned down to kiss his omega gently again. 

“I’ll make it up to you.” Geralt promised and Jaskier smiled, a hand trailing down to his lower stomach where he was stuffed full, that deep need finally satisfied. 

“‘M sure.” He said and closed his eyes. He was sure it was too early to still talk about things. He wanted to luxuriate in the good feelings for a little longer. 

“I’m not gonna get pregnant right? Cause my heat was closed when he did it?” Jaskier asked as he laid in the warm bath Geralt had drawn him. He watched as the alpha carefully braided his hair and used his electric razor on his face. 

“I got a vasectomy back when he first got Cirilla. Yennefer didn’t want to risk it because I was quite…. Virile. You should be fine.” Geralt reassured him, though the thought of Julian round and heavy was quite… enticing to him. Jaskier hummed from his spot, rubbing his stomach where there had been so much just days ago. 

“What will you tell Yennefer?” Jaskier asked. He didn’t want the woman to hate him, didn’t want what they were to get between Geralt and his daughter. 

“She knows.” Geralt said and Jaskier whipped his head around causing waves in the water. 

“What!? How?” He asked, they hadn’t told anyone yet. 

“She was the one who told me to get to you, that day. Told me what an enormous idiot I was being. Eskel too, He knew as soon as I left the conference early.” Geralt grumbled, he hated them both having the upper fitting about his own relationship. Jaskier huffed and leaned back against the tub. 

“What will you tell Cirilla? I’ve yet to even meet her.” Jaskier questioned. Geralt smiled and went over to kiss his partner. 

“We’ll all get together for lunch or something. She’s been telling me to get out more. Plus she needs an omega in her life to help her. You can both go down to the Omegan facility together, you guys won’t have to worry about me or Yennefer’s schedules. It’ll be fine, Julian.” Geralt said and Julian smiled, relaxing in the bubbly water. 

----

Jaskier sat opposite to the girl who did look strikingly like Geralt for an adopted daughter. Geralt and Yennefer had stepped away, Geralt to the restroom and Yennefer for a business call. 

“You’re my dad’s mate now?”

“Domestic partner, we’ve not bitten each other.”

“He likes you. More than he ever liked my mom, in a weird different way.” 

“I like him very much too. And your mother isn’t an omega, he still likes her just in a different way.”

“Are you going to make them get severed?”

“I don’t make your father do anything. I’m never going to ask him to get severed,I can live with that. I think your mom is pretty cool.”

“Good. My mom thinks you're pretty cute, dad sends her videos of you singing. It’s nice.” Jaskier had preened under the praise, smiling widely.

“I can teach you to play if you want. I go to music classes at the O center, if you’re interested.”

“No, but it’s nice. Dad used to always have music on at the house. I think it helps with the stress.”

“I hope so. I was scared to meet you.”

“Good. If you break my dad’s heart, I’ll hunt you down and skin you like a deer.”

“Well we share the same protectiveness of him. I think we’ll get along well, Dear Cirilla.” 

Geralt smiled as he watched the two most important people in his life smile at each other, shaking hands over the table. He thought perhaps they had come to an agreement of some sorts. What sweet things, omega's were, he thought. 

And they were happy. 

Because Geralt was in love with someone who loved him back. 

Because Jaskier found his place in the world, with the man who he adored. 

Because Ciri got a new partner in crime. 

Because Yennefer could finally move on. 

Because Eskel got a new drinking buddy. 

They were all happy, because sometimes, destiny be damned, everything turns out okay. 

[z0mbie2b0y]

This is shit but here

Idk how tags work but here is my gift to the geraskefer fans😭

[curlygirlybitchachos]

Imagine

Obi-wan sits down in a cantina on Tatooin. He tired and just wants to drink something. The audience starts clapping when the next singer goes to stage. Obi-wan recognizes his little padawan. Y/n saw Obi-wan, and for a moment, they stay silent. Then they look deep down in Obi-wan eyes and starts singing "Burn butcher burn".

--------------------------------------------------

Spoilers:

I have never been betrayed like that before. They killed one of my baby. Then they take away Omega, and we got some very painful look how they treat the clones. My man Cody still somewhere in the galaxy having a walk or something like that, Rex and the others on a mission and my poor man Echo are dealing with so much shit. I am ready to throw hands. And Hunter, my man, bestie, If you dare to ever give up saving your BROTHERS I slap you with my very manly flip-flops.

Oh and biological female clones. Damn man. Slay.

Oh, the quotes is sad or angsty because I'm sad and angsty. Enjoy please.

[bambirex]

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

[hegorys]

Geraskier Idea Fica A/B/O

Okay, I can't sleep with this idea in my head so I posted it here after being gone for months, hahahahaha

a universe with alpha/beta/omega dynamics where Geralt has a twin brother, both become witchers who mutate twice, both are alpha, Geralt remains the serious grumpy yet protective and possessive character, Geralt's twin, Gerard, has a better and more accessible humor, thinks about Geralt being the same from the series on Netflix and Gerard being the Geralt from the games, they walk the path together, sometimes separately, but both start to follow the path together when they find Jaskier in Posada.

Dandelion falls in love with the two, in this universe the male omegas are intersex, they are born with both male and female genitals, but the penis is not much, something like a micro penis, he is a size queen and will catch these two wolves whites.

Geralt and Gerard never felt anything sexual between them, but that changes after they meet the omega Jaskier, Gerad is versatile, Geralt is a top and Jaskier is a bottom.

at some point when Gerard ties omega Jaskier in the knot, Geralt will use Jaskier's natural lube to open up Gerard's ass and fuck him while still attached by the knot to Jaskier, pretty rough and make him moan like a bitch and see stars when Geralt knots your ass.

[kayte-overmoon]

Daisy Chain - Part 5 (Finale)

Previous Part

Alpha Geralt/Omega Jaskier

Rated E

Pregnancy AU

Full tags on AO3

“I’m fine, truly.”

Everyone in the room ignores Jaskier’s insistence.

“Honestly, you’re all making such a—”

“Hush.” Geralt’s command leaves no room for argument.

Jaskier, pale and bright eyed where he lies in their bed, snaps his mouth shut.

Geralt hasn’t stopped pacing since he deposited Jaskier on the bed while Yen got Triss and Vesemir. Eskel, Lambert, and Aiden heard the commotion and followed the sound of Geralt’s bellowing to see what all the fuss was about, so now, all the keep’s inhabitants are packed into a room barely big enough for the two of them. Geralt nearly trips over Lambert’s feet every time he paces, but neither of them care to do anything about it.

Triss holds Jaskier’s hand, her brow furrowed in concentration while Vesemir holds an instrument up to his ear and presses the other end to Jaskier’s belly. They’ve been checking Jaskier over for what feels like hours in Geralt’s mind but has really only been a few minutes.

Geralt’s getting impatient. “Well?”

Triss looks up at him then to Vesemir. She’s frowning, but she’s not making any sudden moves to save Jaskier’s life, so it can’t be too dire. Vesemir shakes his head, lowering the instrument.

“They’re both fine,” Triss says.

Geralt does trip over Lambert’s foot, then. He catches himself at the last moment and stumbles to Jaskier’s side. The bard finds his hand and tangles their fingers together. Geralt squeezes as hard as he dares.

“Fine?” Jaskier asks. Gone is his bluster from earlier. Geralt can hear the too-quick thrumming of his heart, smell his worry in the air.

“You’re well, Jaskier,” Vesemir assures him. “And so is your pup. It’s just that your heart is working a bit too hard. Have you been experiencing any dizziness, black spots in your vision when you stand?”

Jaskier flicks his eyes to Geralt’s for only a moment. “Yes.” When Geralt rises again, prepared to yell at him, he corrects, “Only the past day or so, though.”

“You could have told us, Jaskier.” Triss’ voice is soft. She looks a bit peaked in the pale green dress she’s wearing. She’d hastily tied her hair up into a bun upon entering the room, and half of it is falling loose. She’s worried about him. It warms Geralt’s heart just the slightest to know he’s not the only one going frayed at the edges over this. “We’re here to help you.”

Jaskier pouts and starts playing with Geralt’s fingers. A few days ago, he’d taken one of his own rings and jokingly shoved it on Geralt’s pinky, and he’d yet to remove it since. Geralt likes the feel of it. Jaskier likes messing with it while they’re holding hands. “I didn’t think it was anything worth noting,” Jaskier murmurs.

Everything about you is worth noting, Geralt wants to tell him, but all that comes out is a grumble.

Jaskier avoids his gaze then asks, “What do we do?”

“You aren’t doing anything.” Vesemir rises from the bed with a parting pat to Jaskier’s leg. “You need rest. As much as you can get. You’re not to leave this bed for more than a few minutes until the pup comes.”

Again, Geralt tries to speak, to say I’ll strap him down if I must, but he only manages a low growl.

Triss drops Jaskier’s hand and backs away from the bedside. Lambert takes a reproachful step in front of Aiden.

Yennefer, who’s been hovering nearby in case Triss needed her assistance, steps forward and places a hand on Geralt’s arm. “Put your teeth away, Geralt. No one’s going to touch your little bird.”

With no small amount of shame, Geralt realizes he’s been snarling. He ceases at once and leans closer to his omega to press his nose in his hair.

Blessedly, Vesemir starts talking before anyone can make note of Geralt’s behavior. “This is relatively normal at this stage of pregnancy. We should be thankful it’s only becoming an issue now instead of earlier. We’ll make sure you have lots of water and meat to keep your strength up. You can go for a short walk once a day, but never on your own. Don’t even attempt the stairs. You’re staying within running distance of this room.”

“How long?” Jaskier’s voice is tense. Geralt can smell his worry wafting off him in waves. He growls softly, hoping the rumble of his voice will calm the omega. “Should I expect the pup tomorrow? Another month from now?”

Geralt’s head is turned away still but he can hear Vesemir shrug. “It’s hard to say for certain, but I would wager sooner rather than later. You said you conceived around Belleteyn?”

Jaskier nods, bumping Geralt’s nose as he does.

“Then it could be any day now. We pray you carry to term, but I wouldn’t hedge my bets on it.”

The bard’s hands stray to his belly and Geralt covers them with one of his own on instinct. The others shuffle out, giving them privacy.

Once the door closes, Jaskier drops his head and groans. “I feel like an invalid.”

Geralt frowns and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s ear. “You’re not.”

“Ah, so you can talk,” the bard muses. “For a minute there I was worried you’d gone full alpha on me. It’s very sweet, and possibly one of the sexiest things I’ve ever witnessed, but you’re rather a bore to talk to when you’re like that.”

Geralt snorts. “Can’t have you bored, can we?”

“It’s quite possibly the worst thing that could happen to me at this moment.”

Rolling his eyes, Geralt sits up. “And how can I ensure you’re entertained, my liege?”

“I can think of a few ways…” Jaskier drifts a hand down Geralt’s chest, across his stomach, to hook into the waist of the witcher’s trousers—

Geralt catches his wrist before he gets any further. “Anything but that.”

Jaskier pouts like Geralt’s just told him he can’t have dessert before dinner. “Can’t I just have you in my mouth? Nothing more.”

Geralt feels himself start to harden at the soft plea, but he ignores it. “You already had me in your mouth this morning.” His chest warms at the memory. Soft lips, hot tongue, stuttered breaths stirring the hair beneath his navel… “Besides, if standing is an issue for your health, I can’t imagine gagging will do you much better.”

Jaskier blushes, drawing his legs up under the covers. “I’m getting better at it, though,” he protests. His scent has mellowed back out, sour worry replaced with the sun-warmed honey of arousal and embarrassment. “I hardly choked this morning. Only once or twice.”

“Which is one or two times too many for my liking.” Geralt eases the bard back against the pillows, tucking a few more in around him to keep him secure. “Can I get you anything? Other than—” He cuts Jaskier off when he sees the glint in those pretty eyes. “—my cock.”

With a huff, the omega flops into the pillows. “I suppose a book will do. But only if you read it to me.”

Geralt rolls his eyes at the bard’s impertinence but goes to find a book of fables Jaskier adores.

⚘⚘⚘

Even with books, and a minimum of two guests to keep him company at any given time, it takes Jaskier all of three days before he’s complaining.

“Can’t I just go to the library?” he whines from the bed. He’s given up on asking to be taken to the hot springs. Geralt doesn’t want to risk taking him that far. Besides, his omega’s heart always beats faster in the hot springs, from the heat and the proximity of Geralt’s naked body. He’s not willing to risk the added stress to his heart.

But this? This he can do.

Geralt uncorks a bottle and upends its contents into the tub he’s been gradually filling with water. The scent of chamomile, a bit too strong for his sensibilities, fills the air of their room. “No.”

“But Geralt—”

“Jask, we’ve talked about this.” He sets the bottle aside and lifts a hand, casting Igni. There’s a ripple over the water, then steam begins rising from its surface.

“No, you’ve talked about this. I’ve had no say in it.”

Geralt turns his back to the tub (it will need to cool down for a few minutes before he lets Jaskier in) and puts his hands on his hips. “Exactly. Because if it were up to you, you’d still be strutting about the keep.”

Jaskier frowns. He looks ridiculous, frankly. His hair is fluffed up on one side from his post-lunch nap. He’s managed to acquire every unused blanket and pillow in the entirety of Kaer Morhen—and a fair few of the in-use ones as well—and has constructed himself a truly impressive nest. Geralt has to climb over its walls every time he leaves or enters the bed. It’s enough to make him smile, even with Jaskier’s near-constant complaining.

“I do not strut.”

Geralt snorts.

When he deems the water cool enough, he coaxes Jaskier slowly from the bed, making sure he doesn’t rise too quickly. He strips him efficiently, ignoring the bard’s waggling eyebrows, and gets him in the tub with little fuss.

Jaskier sinks into the water with a sigh, leaning his head against one end. Luckily, it’s large enough for him to lay back and stretch out his legs. It was made for witchers, who are tall and broad and often covered in unspeakable things, so it’s the perfect size for a man of average height and build to lounge in.

“I know it’s not the springs,” Geralt says, taking a seat on stool beside the tub. “But it’s still nice, right?”

Jaskier grumbles his unhappy agreement.

His discontent melts away almost as soon as Geralt gets his hands in his hair, washing it and brushing it out with his fingers until Jaskier’s purring drowns everything else out. Geralt tries not to be too smug about it. He’s been patient with Jaskier’s moods the past few days. He’s never carried a child, so he has no clue what his bard is going through. He’s seen how he winces when the pup kicks him, noticed how frequently he has to relieve himself these days. Geralt knows Jaskier’s not upset with him—he’s just upset. This is one of the small things he knows Jaskier loves.

He rinses Jaskier’s hair then runs his hands down the omega’s neck, massaging his tight muscles.

Jaskier melts further, his chin nearly dipping beneath the lukewarm water. He looks as if nothing can shake him from his peace.

Nothing, that is, except for a loud thud from the room next door.

Jaskier jolts, and Geralt turns his head to listen: there’s another soft thunk, a hiss of a voice, then a shuffle, then Eskel’s voice muttering an apology. From Jaskier’s curious eyes peeking back at him, he knows he can’t hear the voices and is trusting Geralt to relay any pertinent information. A soft chuckle—light and feminine—from the room next door makes Geralt decide it’s none of his business until someone makes it his business.

He shakes his head softly. If Eskel has decided to whisk a certain curly-haired sorceress to a more private room, it’s no skin off Geralt’s teeth. It is, however, a bit strange they’ve decided to dally in the room right next to the nesting omega. Odd choice, but who is Geralt to judge?

“Just Eskel,” he tells Jaskier. “Sounds like he’s finally getting around to replacing the chipped grout in the room next-door.”

There’s an innuendo there waiting to be picked apart, but Jaskier doesn’t pay it any mind. He reclines in the tub and tips his head, letting Geralt know he’d like to continue this little massage, please and thank you.

Geralt snorts and does as he’s asked.

⚘⚘⚘

The mysterious sounds from next door continue for the better part of the week before Geralt gets answers.

He’s dubious about his first assumption. If the constant clunks and scrapes are the sounds of Eskel’s lovemaking, he may need professional intervention—in the medical sense, not the professional sense. Though he supposes Eskel’s partner has all the expertise he would need for such an ailment.

The medical expertise, of course.

He and Jaskier are having dinner—roast quail and potatoes in some fragrant broth for which Vesemir refuses to share the recipe—with Yennefer keeping them company in the chair by the fire. None of them have dared trying to enter the nest. Geralt grits his teeth when anyone is within shouting distance of his omega, but Jaskier himself has begun showing signs of aggression common in nesting omegas. Everyone steers clear from his nest, not even daring to look at it for more than a few seconds, and no one besides Jaskier has touched Geralt since Lambert patted his arm in passing after breakfast one day and Jaskier exploded into a bone-chilling snarl. Geralt had been floored. He’s never even truly heard Jaskier raise his voice at anyone besides the occasional alderman who thought he could get away with shorting Geralt on payment for a contract. This snarl—primal and raw and wholly un-Jaskier—made him freeze in place.

So, Yen keeps her distance.

Surprisingly, she and Jaskier get along great. Geralt worried that now Jaskier knew about his romantic past with Yennefer, things would be strained. Quite the opposite. It seems both having had Geralt at one point or another is all the common ground they needed to become thick as thieves. He’s come to accept that if the two of them are in a room together, Geralt will be the butt of every one of their jokes.

He's letting their conversation wash over him, ignoring the muted whispers from the room adjacent to theirs with his empty bowl in his lap and his belly full. He’s warm. Content.

“Ah!” Jaskier’s soft cry catches his attention. Once, it may have scared him to hear such a noise, but he’s grown accustomed to the way his omega’s hand jolts to his side when the pup decides it’s time to move.

Yen, however, is on her feet before Jaskier can assure her he’s fine. “What’s wrong?” She’s gone pale beneath the dark blue wool gown she’s wearing—the nicest thing she’s worn since coming to the keep. “Do you need me to fetch Triss?”

Jaskier chuckles and sinks back into his pillows. “No, no. She’s just fidgety. Kicked me in the ribs. She’s rather fond of potatoes, I think. Can’t stop wiggling every time I have them. Which is frequently, by the way. Why these witchers grow so many tubers is beyond me—”

Geralt rolls his eyes and takes Jaskier’s bowl when it’s done. As he rises and takes their dishes to the tray on the table by the door (Vesemir will come fetch it soon, or Yen will take it with her when she leaves), he’s aware of Yen’s trouble gaze. She sat back down when it became clear Jaskier wasn’t going into labor at that very moment, but there’s still a frown resting firmly between her brows.

“Would you like to come feel?”

Geralt’s spine goes straight. His back is turned so he can’t see the look on either of their faces. He’s afraid to look and break whatever moment of intimacy the two of them may be having.

This is big, he knows. Though her ascension had changed her much the same way the Trials had changed Geralt, Yennefer is all alpha. She masks it with the coyness of her eyes and light perfumes that soften her scent, but it’s clear to anyone with half a brain what she is. Jaskier is in his own nest that he shares only with Geralt. Even when Triss comes in to examine him, she’s taken to easing him into one of the lounge chairs they’ve brought from the library instead of joining him on the bed. To invite Yen near, to touch him, is a massive test of faith.

He still can’t see Yennefer’s face, but he hears the tremble in her voice when she asks, “Are you certain?”

There’s a puff of air from the nest—the sound most commonly paired with Jaskier’s award-winning eye rolls. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t. Come.”

Geralt tries to give them privacy, he really does, but the closer Yen’s footsteps get to his nest, the more tense his shoulders grow until they’re raised nearly to his ears. He bites down on a growl and spins, gripping the table behind him to keep from lashing out.

Yen’s smart enough to know not to enter the nest. She merely leans over and reaches out a hand, waiting for Jaskier to grab her wrist before touching him.

Jaskier’s face is passive, as neutral as it can be, but Geralt feels his apprehension as if it’s his own. Much of their arrangement hinges on how well Yennefer gets along with Jaskier and the pup. If he doesn’t trust her around his child, or if she isn’t willing to protect them both, then her training will fail before it ever truly begins. Geralt may have agreed to train her, but Jaskier is his first priority. If he’s uncomfortable or unhappy, or there’s even the slightest chance this could lead to him or the pup getting hurt, Geralt is pulling the plug. If they’re to travel the Path together, the four of them, as a unit, this needs to work.

Jaskier pulls her hand until it rests on the swell of his stomach over his shirt. He shifts her around, brow furrowed, until the pup gives another kick. He grins triumphantly as Yennefer jolts in surprise. Her eyes dart from her hand to Jaskier’s face, then back again half a dozen times in a few short moments.

“Do you—that doesn’t feel comfortable?” It’s the most unsure Yen has ever sounded.

Jaskier laughs, relaxing minutely and letting go of her wrist. “Sometimes I can ignore it. Every now and then she’ll get particularly rowdy and decide to pick a fight with my liver or what have you.”

Yennefer’s hand lingers for a moment before she finally steps away. “Sounds like she’ll make a fine witcher one day.”

The tension that had left Geralt when she stepped away from the nest returns in force. Jaskier’s eyes go wide then snap in Geralt’s direction for the first time since he walked away. The bard shrinks into the bed. His hand curls under the swell of his belly.

“No,” Geralt finds himself saying through gritted teeth. “Not that.”

Jaskier stares at him, his scent going sour in the air. He doesn’t speak.

Now a few paces away from the bed, Yennefer twists her hands together. “I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

Geralt glares at her. “You did, though.”

For the first time since he’s known her, Geralt watches Yennefer of Vengerberg drop her head. “I’ll leave you be.” Then she’s gone, the door left open in her haste.

Geralt is back in the nest in an instant. “She’s wrong.” Jaskier’s still looking at him oddly, so he continues. “I don’t want the pup to be a witcher. She needs a proper childhood. She doesn’t need to be able to wield a sword before she can climb a tree on her own, or hunt before she’s learned how to read. I don’t want her to grow up the way I did—”

He’s rambling, he knows. It’s something he’d never done before he met Jaskier. Just another one of the countless ways this man has changed him.

The man in question reaches out for him, halting him mid-tirade. “It’s fine, dear heart. Just Mumma brain going a bit wild.” He pulls on Geralt’s arm until he relaxes beside him, letting Jaskier curl up against him. “I don’t mind the idea of her witchering one day, once she’s grown.” When Geralt only blinks in surprise, he laughs. “What, did you think the idea was completely foreign to me? Of course I’ve thought about it. While she’s sure to have my share of musical genius and blinding wit, if you’re raising her, she’s bound to be tough. If it’s what she chooses, I have no qualms. Well, okay. I have several qualms, but they’re not too qualmy so as to be an obstacle.”

He's not lying. Geralt would know if he was. Still, it’s impossible to imagine. What parent would want their child going into a profession marred with blood and disgust of others? Geralt, for one, does not want this child to face what he’s had to face. He’s been beaten and bloodied, left at the brink of death for nothing but sheer luck to bring him back. He’s been scorned from entire cities, spat on, and cursed. And before the Path, he’d suffered grueling training and the horror of the Trials. The pain still haunts him sometimes, the screams of his dying brothers ringing in his ears long after he wakes.

A finger jabs between his eyebrows, poking without mercy. “Stop that,” Jaskier tells the frown on his witcher’s face. “You’ve said it yourself. You witchers are making your own rules now. You’re bending them for Yennefer, and you’ll bend them again if one day our child decides this is what she wants, too.” His finger moves down the striga scar bisecting Geralt’s eyebrow that’s long since healed. “I know you’ll protect her, just as you’ve protected me. There’s no one I’d trust more with her.”

Geralt sighs and drops his head to his omega’s shoulder. His scent is stronger here, thicker. It grows more honeyed each day. It’s all he can do to keep from curling up and keeping his nose pressed right here all day. “You’re a fool,” he tells the bard.

“I know.” Jaskier’s reply is lacking the mirth Geralt had expected. “But it’s true. I’ve never trusted anyone the way I trust you. I’d let you lead me blindfolded over a pit of vipers if you promised we’d make it to the other side.”

“You have my full permission to push me in if it ever comes to that.”

The bard snorts, but before he can reply further, someone raps on the open door.

Eskel steps in, one hand covering his eyes. “You decent?”

“No,” Jaskier says. “But we are clothed, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Eskel peeks between his fingers like he’s afraid Jaskier is lying, then drops his hand when he sees they are indeed clothed. Geralt rolls his eyes. “We have a surprise for you,” Eskel says.

“We?” Geralt asks.

As if summoned, Triss appears at Eskel’s side, draping a hand around his elbow. “We’ve got a present for you next door.”

Jaskier looks to him. Geralt shrugs and peels himself from the nest, reaching for Jaskier’s hands to help him up as well. It takes a moment to get him upright, mostly due to Geralt making sure he’s not rising too quickly.

Triss and Eskel lead them to the room next door—the one they’d initially put Jaskier in before he moved in with Geralt, the one Geralt had thought Triss and Eskel to be making very creative love—and as they do, the rest of the keep’s inhabitants appear in the hall. Yen still looks chagrined, but she’s smiling just the faintest where she stands against the wall between Vesemir and Lambert.

Triss stands before the closed door. “We’ve all been working on this for the past few weeks.” She turns to smile at each of the people gathered in the hall. “Vesemir had the idea, and everyone else has pitched in to make it happen.”

“Enough with the pomp and circumstance!” Lambert cries. “Just open the bloody door.”

With an eyeroll to rival even Jaskier’s, Triss opens the door and steps aside to let them enter.

Geralt eases Jaskier in front of him, letting him be first, and he’s glad he does. The second the bard steps inside, he gasps and falls back into Geralt’s chest. He catches him, prepared to sweep him up if he’s fainted, but he’s merely staring at the room with shining eyes.

When Geralt looks up, he can see why.

The whole room has been aired out and scrubbed clean. It no longer smells of dust and stale woodsmoke as these unused rooms often do. The wooden pallet bed has been removed and, in its place, sits a crib, carefully constructed with stars and moons carved into the slats. A wooden hoop hangs above it, more stars and moons carved from wood and painted silver dangling from it as it spins slowly—likely magic, of some sort. By the fire, there’s a new rug woven from various shades of blue. Beside that is a rocking chair Geralt has never seen, already draped with cushions and blankets, ready for use.

“Oh.” Jaskier’s voice comes out small but he’s holding himself upright again, now merely holding onto Geralt’s arm for support. He turns in a circle about the room, reaching out to touch the hoop above the bed. “I had a mobile like this when I was a child. Did you make it?”

“Eskel carved the stars,” Triss says. She and the others stand at the door, letting Geralt and his omega explore the nursery for themselves. “Yen painted it. I cast the enchantments. It will spin on its own, and it glows at night. Lambert and Aiden brought the fabric for the rug. Vesemir helped put the rocker together.”

Jaskier’s hands drops and grips the edge of the crib. He gazes down into it, eyes shining.

Geralt swallows a few times to clear the lump in his throat. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t this.

“It’s not much,” Eskel tells them. There’s a meekness to his voice, like he’s embarrassed to have been caught doing something sentimental. “But we’ve never had a baby in the keep, at least not as far as Ves can remember.”

Geralt looks to his father, who’s still leaning against the wall in the hallway, letting the younger witchers watch the events unfurling in the nursery. The old wolf shakes his head. “The youngest boy we ever had just turned three when we got him,” he says. To someone who doesn’t know him, the bitterness in his voice would be unnoticeable. Geralt and his brother’s clock it immediately. “Besides, your girl deserves more than a musty cot in a drafty hallway.”

The lump in Geralt’s throat returns, and he tries to hide it by draping himself around Jaskier, holding onto his belly and scenting him gently. “What do you think?”

Jaskier turns to press his cheek to the top of Geralt’s head. “Gods, it’s perfect. I’ve never—I wasn’t expecting anything like this.”

Geralt knows what he was expecting. Before Oxenfurt, Jaskier had waxed poetic about a basketweaver he’d once met in Rinde who made baby baskets that could be carried on your back. He’d talked about them so much that Geralt had looked for anything remotely similar every time they were near a market. Jaskier never expected a full room for his pup. He’d only ever thought of a single basket with which to carry her.

A shudder works its way up Geralt’s spine, but it’s not wholly unpleasant. Guilt over not thinking of this sooner loses out to gratitude for this family doing it for him.

This is what Jaskier deserves. He deserves a room for his child to sleep and play and grow and be loved. He deserves a home. Not a tent or a bedroll or a room at an inn. A home.

And Geralt hadn’t been the one to provide it for him.

Jaskier turns in his arms, running his hands up Geralt’s back until he’s clutching his shoulders, pressed as close as they can be with the pup in the way. “It’s perfect,” he whispers again, muffled in Geralt’s shirt.

Geralt lifts his eyes to his family once more, all watching him with wide eyes.

He smiles at them and pulls Jaskier closer.

⚘⚘⚘

Jaskier manages to convince Geralt to let him test out the rocker for a few minutes before he’s herded back to bed. He’s been upright too long. His heart isn’t putting up a fight yet, but Geralt isn’t willing to even give it the chance.

But try as he might, he can’t keep Jaskier out of the nursery over the next few days.

They end up moving in his favorite chaise lounge so he can keep his bedrest and be able to take in the space at the same time. Triss and Vesemir warn against moving, but Geralt, perhaps, is the only one who understands. His own nesting is getting bad—he’s been stockpiling food and water, even though he knows they won’t run out, and he finds himself growling every time anyone is nearby. He can’t imagine how bad Jaskier’s is.

He hides it well. Their nest in the bed is only partially dismantled so he can have some of his favorite blankets with him in the nursery. He’s been rearranging everything frantically, even going so far as to sew up the holes in the blankets. But he does find his moments of peace between redecorating and complaining of the heat flashes he’s been having. At times, the pup stills and Jaskier can find some respite, which is usually when he decides to pick his lute back up or put his head in Geralt’s lap so his alpha can play with his hair and read him stories.

Geralt loves those moments of quiet.

Which is probably why the interruptions put his teeth on edge.

Yennefer means no ill will—she merely raps lightly on the door while Jaskier is snoozing and Geralt is watching the rise and fall of his chest, one hand in his bard’s hair and the other on his stomach. But still, Geralt glowers at her, seething as she motions for him to join her in the hallway.

Later, he will apologize for his sneer and thank her for not setting foot inside. Frankly, he’s fed up with his own territorialism, but he’s so focused on keeping Jaskier and his pup safe, he’s fine with being a prick to the people he loves.

He leaves the door open a crack so he can come if Jaskier calls.

Yen shifts on her feet and crosses her arms.

“What is it?” Geralt keeps his voice low. Jaskier doesn’t sleep through the night very well these days, so his naptime is precious.

Graciously, Yennefer knows to keep her voice down as well. She frowns at him. “When were you going to tell me he has magic?”

Geralt sighs and leans against the wall. He was afraid this was coming. “He doesn’t.”

“I’m not stupid, Geralt,” she says, a corner of her mouth twitching upward. “You don’t have to hide it from me. I felt it when he let me feel the pup kick. He practically zapped me with it.”

“It’s not his magic, we don’t think.”

“We?”

He nods. “Vesemir knows. Eskel and Triss as well. At this point, Lambert and Aiden probably do as well.”

“Oh, so I’m the only one left out of the loop then?”

She’s upset. She’s hiding it behind sarcasm and prickly words, but Geralt knows her well enough to know what it means when her scent sours, like wine left out in the sun for too long.

He takes a step closer (he’s no longer so on edge, with a mostly shut door between his nesting omega and an unmated alpha) and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Yen,” he says softly. “We didn’t leave you out intentionally. None of us really know what it means yet. We’ve hardly had the time to talk about it. And to be honest…” He lowers his voice more, so that on the off chance Jaskier is awake, he won’t hear. “I’m not sure he knows about it himself.”

She blinks. “Are you serious? How can he not know?”

Geralt shrugs and drops his hand but keeps his voice quiet. “He’s never mentioned it before and I know he wouldn’t… he wouldn’t lie to me about this.”

“He never spoke of a change? Odd things happening around him? A conduit moment?”

“Never.”

Yennefer frowns even harder. “That doesn’t make any sense. He’s, what, twenty?”

“There about.”

“Something was bound to have happened by now. People with that much chaos bouncing around inside them don’t just sit inert for two whole decades, Geralt.” She stops, her violet eyes widening. “What if someone put a curse on him? Some sort of binding to keep his powers at bay?”

The thought makes Geralt’s chest tighten. He glances into the nursery just to make sure Jaskier is still snoozing happily, curled up around a pillow. “Wouldn’t you be able to tell that sort of thing?”

“Not always, especially if it was put in place by a powerful enough mage who knew what they were doing.” She purses her lips in thought. “Does he have any enemies? Anyone who might want to control him?”

“I don’t know.” The thought scares Geralt enough to have him reaching for his swords out of habit—but they’re in the bedroom. He’s safe. Jaskier is safe. Kaer Morhen is safe. He shakes his head at himself. “He left his family when he conceived. I don’t know all his motivations, exactly, but I do know his family had… influence.”

She nods, like it makes any sense. “Then they would have had access to a mage, most likely in court somewhere. And wealthy families have a myriad of reasons to hide their sons’ magic. Control, fear, prejudice. Money. If he’s their only son, in some places… well, you can understand why they wouldn’t want their sole heir running off to Ban Ard.”

“Vesemir mentioned the pup’s magic is stronger than Jask’s, that they’re both protected by it. He said that’s why they’re both so healthy when male omega pregnancies don’t… don’t…”

Yen taps her fingers to her chin. “I didn’t see that, but… well, I only noticed it when I touched him, and that was brief. It could have been her magic, for all I know.” She must see something on his face, then, for she sighs and pats him on the arm. “It’s all speculation, Geralt. All that matters is that they’re both safe, right?”

“Right.”

“Then the rest of it can be resolved later. It’s not life or death.” She clearly says it with more cheer than she feels, but Geralt appreciates the effort, nonetheless.

“I should talk to him about this.”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling for the first time. “I think you have to.”

⚘⚘⚘

Geralt waits until Jaskier is well-rested and recently fed to bring it up.

They’re in the nursery again. Jaskier reclines on his chaise, scribbling in one of his notebooks, and Geralt, on the floor, has drawn the bard’s feet into his lap and is rubbing out the aches Jaskier has been complaining about. They’re silent, save for the scratching of Jaskier’s pencil on paper and the occasional sigh when Geralt digs the hinge of his thumb into his arches.

“Jask?”

The bard hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t look up from his writing.

“Have you ever—that is, I mean…” Geralt’s stuttering catches his omega’s attention. He’s never been particularly composed around him, but Jaskier knows he only trips over his words when he’s anxious. Which he is. Very. He’s trying to keep his scent calm, neutral, but even as he thinks it, he can smell his own nerves rising in the air.

Jaskier setts his notebook aside. “What is it, love?”

Geralt frowns and runs his hands up to Jaskier’s ankle to distract them both. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. It’s… something Vesemir brought to my attention, then Yen…”

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, his voice a smidge harder than it was a moment ago. “You’re making me nervous. What is it? You know you can ask me anything.”

“Do you have magic?”

Geralt keeps his gaze on Jaskier’s feet (pale and simple, peeking out the bottom of his trousers) and continues the slow, soothing motions of his hands. It’s not doing much for Jaskier anymore, he knows, but he fears what will happen when he no longer has something to occupy his hands.

He needs the answer. They all do. But he’s never asked anything like this of Jaskier. He’s always let the omega set the pace of their relationship. He let him tell Geralt of his pregnancy in his own time, even though he’d already known. He revealed bits and pieces of himself gradually, let Geralt puzzle it all together until he truly knows Jaskier. The only things he’s ever withheld from Geralt are his real name—which Geralt is honestly content never to know if that’s what Jaskier wishes—and his true feelings for the witcher. But even then, while he’d never said the words aloud until Geralt did, he’d shown it in countless ways before then. His songs, the way he defended Geralt to other humans, the way he remembered Geralt’s fondness for honey-glazed doughnuts—it all told Geralt what he needed to know before the words “I love you” even grazed his lips.

Jaskier’s hand comes into Geralt’s line of sight. The inside of his middle finger is stained black from charcoal. His thumbnail is broken from where he’d let it get too long and it had gotten caught on his lute strings. Geralt could pick out those hands from a lineup, he thinks. At this point, he knows them better than he knows his own.

Those charcoal-dusted, lute-calloused fingers hook under Geralt’s chin and tip it upright until he’s looking up into those cornflower-blue eyes that have followed him for the better part of the past year. There’s a line between Jaskier’s eyebrows, but he’s not upset like Geralt feared. He’s only confused.

“Do I have magic?” He repeats the question like he hadn’t heard Geralt properly the first time.

“Yes.”

“Dear heart.” Jaskier blinks, shakes his head. “Don’t you think I would have told you by now if I did? Don’t you have some sort of, I don’t know, sixth witcher sense for that kind of thing?”

Geralt snorts. He lifts a hand to touch the wolf-head medallion resting just beneath his collarbones. “Just this. It vibrates when there’s strong magic nearby.” He doesn’t add, however, that witchers can sense certain types of magic themselves. His sense for it isn’t as innate as Vesemir’s or Eskel’s, but he’s had moments where he’s looked at someone and known they’re a mage before they even open their mouths.

“But it’s never vibrated around me.” Jaskier’s hand drops from Geralt’s chin to the medallion, stroking a finger over it. “Why do you ask?”

Geralt notes he hasn’t yet said “no.”

“Vesemir noticed when you arrived, then Eskel,” Geralt says. “Then Triss and Yen once they’d touched you. They say magic… it’s all over you, Jask.”

He frowns harder, brow scrunching in confusion. “But I—I don’t have magic. I couldn’t. I would have known by now, right?”

His confusion eases the tension in Geralt’s spine. He’s telling the truth. This is news to him, just as much as it has been to all of them. “Possibly,” Geralt says. “There are ways you wouldn’t though.”

“Such as?”

“Yennefer mentioned someone may have limited your ability to access your chaos,” he says, skipping around the word “curse.” If it had worried Geralt to hear, he can only imagine what it would do to Jaskier’s nerves. “Or, it could be something benign. Latent Elder blood, for instance, or a blessing placed on you by a priestess—any number of things. Or…”

“Or?”

Geralt shifts to sit beside Jaskier on his lounge. Jaskier makes room for him easily, flipping his blankets back to settle over Geralt’s lap once he’s settled. “The pup’s sire. You knew him well?”

Jaskier nods. He looks away, his cheeks tinting. “Yes. His family has worked for our—for my father—for decades. He and I were raised together.”

“Is there any chance he had magic?”

Jaskier laughs, sharp and sudden. He catches himself quickly, pressing his fingers to his mouth. “I’m sorry.” He glances at Geralt sheepishly, then chuckles again. “No. Odard? No.”

“Are you certain?” Geralt asks. “Ves says the pup’s magic is… significant.”

The bard’s mirth melts back into confusion. He presses a hand to his belly like he’ll be able to glean the answers simply from touch. “I suppose… it’s not wholly impossible. But I don’t know… why wouldn’t he have told me?”

“It’s all speculation, Jask. It might not be his magic. Or, if it is, it could be so well hidden even he hadn’t a clue.” He catches Jaskier’s hand as he senses him tipping from confusion to worry. “Listen. Vesemir said the magic—whoever’s it is or wherever it came from—is protecting you both. It’s not a bad thing. Something that has kept you both whole and healthy could never be a bad thing, in my book.”

Jaskier’s face softens, and he cracks a smile, tipping forward to rest his forehead on Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt makes room for him, moves his legs out of the way so Jask can cuddle up against him, and presses his cheek to the bard’s hair. They scent each other impulsively.

“I still want to know where it came from,” Jaskier murmurs after a few moments. Geralt had assumed they were done. “If this is something that could… help us or… harm us. I would like to know.”

Geralt hums. He agrees. Magic is something people kill and die for. Even latent magic has power that drives men mad. If what Vesemir said about magic attracting monsters is true, Jaskier and his pup could be in danger.

Geralt wonders what it says about him, that he’d been drawn to Jaskier like a moth to a flame.

“Is anyone in your family elven?”

Jaskier lifts his head. “I doubt it. My father…” He shudders and shakes his head. “He’s not the sort to keep the company of elves, even in his own family.”

“And your mother?” He’s never mentioned her, Geralt realizes. The handful of times he’s spoke of his family, it’s only ever been to complain of his father’s cruelty. Surely someone as kind and caring as Jaskier had a female influence on him growing up. He couldn’t have spawned from his dickbag of a father’s loins.

Jaskier’s scent sours and he drops his head again. “She… no. She wasn’t elven. My father would have… he wouldn’t have married her if she was.”

He speaks of her in the past tense. Geralt knows better than to pry. Instead, he kisses Jaskier’s hair and says, “Alright. Then it likely isn’t Elder blood. That’s one less avenue to explore.” He leans back into the chaise, pulling Jaskier with him until they’re both reclining again. “We’ll figure it out, Jask.”

Jaskier nods silently.

Neither of them speaks again for a good long while.

⚘⚘⚘

Over the next few days, something grows inside Geralt.

Not in the literal sense—Jaskier is the one doing all the growing, after all. But each passing moment sets Geralt’s teeth on edge. He’s not content until he and Jaskier both are in their nest and everyone else in the keep is far, far away.

He forgets that these people would rather fall on their own swords than harm Jaskier or the pup. He forgets they’re here to help. He forgets they spent the last few weeks preparing a special place just for Jaskier and their daughter. The second he hears footfalls in the hallway, he’s on his feet, steel sword in hand and ready to defend his pack.

It comes to a head when Triss comes to check in on Jaskier. She’s the only one Geralt will tolerate in the room with Jaskier. Aiden, even though he’s an omega, is too much of a threat even unarmed. Witchers are trained killers. Geralt would rather hurl himself off the parapets than let any of them close to Jaskier.

Jaskier is fed up with Geralt’s constant growling and pacing, but even he bristles when Triss enters. Still, he smiles at her and goes when she beckons him to leave the nest. Geralt places himself at the door, far enough away to not crowd them but close enough to intervene if necessary. It’s all he can do not to growl the entire time someone else is in the room.

Once Jaskier’s to his feet, Triss slips an arm around his waist to steady him. Looking back, Geralt knows the wince his omega lets out has nothing to do with Triss’ touch and everything to do with the pup’s weight pushing down on his bladder, but he can’t think of that in the moment.

Geralt sees red.

He can’t recall what happens next, only that he’s rushing forward, there’s a flood of snarling in his ears (only some of it his own), then Eskel’s shoving him up against the wall with an arm across his throat.

Geralt snaps his teeth and shoves his brother, not seeing him as anything other than a threat, an intruder, an unmated alpha when Geralt’s omega is right there—

“Enough!”

Geralt and Eskel both snap their heads to the doorway as Vesemir shoulders his way through. Geralt has no clue when either of them arrived. Vesemir pulls them apart, then hauls them to the hallway while Jaskier and Triss watch them go with wide eyes.

The cord in Geralt’s chest that ties him to Jaskier pulls as the door shuts between them. He lunges, trying to get back in, but Vesemir steps between it and Geralt. “I said enough,” the old wolf growls. “Back off, Wolf.”

Even with Geralt’s instincts screaming at him, he eases off at his father’s command. “But I—”

“No.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Triss has him. You know she’d sooner pluck out her own eyes than harm your boy. I won’t let anyone inside. Go. Take a walk.” He turns to Eskel, who’s stopped growling under his breath but still hovers nearby. “And you. You have no right to be here.”

“But Triss—”

“Can handle herself. Go. Back to your work. I expect the north corridor to be spotless by dinnertime.”

Eskel huffs and sets off down the hallway, sparing one last glance to the closed bedroom door.

Once he’s gone, Vesemir sighs and looks at Geralt again with no small amount of exasperation. “What did I say? Go. Get some air. Your omega will be just fine. We’ll send for you if you’re needed, but right now, you’re just getting in the way.”

The rational part of Geralt’s mind agrees. He’s being ridiculous. Jaskier is safer in that room than anywhere on the Continent. They’re miles away from any other living soul. The keep is protected by five (and a half) witchers, two sorceresses, three layers of rock, an iced-over mountain, and a hefty handful of enchantments. If Geralt can’t leave Jaskier in this room, in this keep, with someone he trusts with his own life, where can he leave him?

He takes a deep breath, willing away his alpha rage as the air floods his lungs, and nods.

As Geralt leaves, Vesemir plants his feet and folds his hands in front of himself—a sentry pose. He’s not going anywhere.

Geralt relaxes just the slightest as he makes his way down the hall, to the stairs, then down to the Great Hall. Yennefer is sparring with Lambert—and losing horribly, based on the tang of bitterness on the air and the scrape on her chin—while Aiden keeps watch. They watch Geralt as he passes them and slips out the door and into the cold winter air.

It’s gotten even colder in the past few weeks. The mountain is quiet. Everything—from the birds and deer to the thin streams carving scars into the forest—has begun hibernating until spring.

Geralt won’t be able to stay out here for long. He didn’t bring a coat, and even witchers are capable of getting frost bite.

But, he’ll admit, the fresh air is nice. It stings his lungs on the way down, cleansing his pheromone-addled brain. He hadn’t realized how entrenched in Jaskier’s scent he’s become. He can still smell him, of course. Even if he hadn’t rubbed himself all over Geralt’s chest earlier in the day, he’d still be present in every pore of Geralt’s skin.

He wonders how much deeper that will go once they’ve bonded—if they bond, Geralt corrects himself. He still half expects Jaskier to come to his senses once the pup has arrived and realize he’d merely clung unto the nearest alpha able to protect him and his pup.

Geralt should give him more credit than that, he knows. Jaskier has no reason to lie to him about his feelings. And he does care for Geralt. You’d have to be blind and deaf and have no sense of smell to think otherwise. But can he truly want a future with a witcher? A man more than four times his age who’s likely to outlive him. A man trained from his youth to fight and kill and be only one step above the monsters whose lives he claims. A man unable to give him a home, unable to give him more children. He’d be a fool to want that.

He takes another deep breath and lets it go, watching it cloud out from between his lips.

Geralt would be a fool to let him go.

As long as Jaskier is willing to love him, he’ll take it. He can’t imagine his life without him anymore. He’d once thought of the Path as lonely, the quiet only interrupted by bloodshed and the occasional political spat he’s found himself in the middle of. Now it’s anything but lonely. The politics and bloodshed remain, but everything else has changed. Instead of loneliness, there’s Jaskier’s voice, writing epics about Geralt’s battles. Instead of pain, there’s Jaskier’s cool hands stitching him back up. Instead of the metallic tang of blood and the cloying stench of death, there’s Jaskier’s honey-sweet scent flooding Geralt’s senses.

Geralt touches the medallion at his chest, still warm despite the weather.

You’re making your own rules these days.

Jaskier had said that a few days ago, repeating something Geralt had once said to him before Oxenfurt. It’s true—once the witchers were held by a creed that forced them to live by the whims of men and die at the hands of monsters. Now that there’s no way for them to make new witchers, the humans couldn’t care less what they do. And there will always be monsters, more than a handful of mutated men can take care of themselves.

Who says they can’t write new rules? Who says the witchers have to be mutated versions of the boys they used to be? Why can’t normal people—courageous people, but normal—take up arms against the monsters hunting them in the night? If anyone can fall victim to them, why can’t just anyone learn to fight them?

Yennefer could be just the first of many. Sure, she has her magic and years of fighting to back her up, but she could be the beginning of a great experiment.

Witchers have long been isolated creatures, and not solely due to the unkindness of men. There’s enough knowledge within the walls of Kaer Morhen and the remaining Cat and Griffon keeps to equip the whole Continent with the tools they need to take care of monsters. If they only opened their doors to the public, lent their own wisdom to those tired of being driven from riversides by drowners and forced out of their cemeteries by ghouls—what would happen?

The door to the Great Hall opens then shuts behind Geralt but he doesn’t turn. He knows the boot falls approaching him like they’re his own.

Eskel sighs as he takes his place at Geralt’s side. “Remember that winter before the Trials we tried climbing the south wall in a blizzard?”

Geralt snorts. “Don’t you have a corridor to be scrubbing?”

Eskel ignores him then jabs an elbow into his side, grinning. “I thought Ves would skin us alive.”

“Guess he figured the broken bones were punishment enough.”

Eskel chuckles, a cloud of white forming in front of him. They both look up at the sky. Clouds gather on the horizon, dark and foreboding. They’re in for another storm. Based on Eskel’s comment about the blizzard, it’s not likely to be a light one.

“Can you feel it?” Eskel whispers, his humor from the moment before gone.

Geralt nods. He can. The wind picks up, carrying with it the scent of ozone and snow. “We should try one more hunt before it starts.” The kitchen and cellar are stocked with more than enough flour, vegetables, and dried fruits to get them through the winter, but they’ll be short on fresh meat for a while. Anything they can get now, skin, and preserve will only serve them in the coming months.

Eskel nods, and soon they’ve both gone back for their coats and weapons. Jaskier decided to lay down for a nap after Triss’ exam, a hot water bottle settled low on his belly, so Geralt only feels a small pang of guilt leaving him for a few hours.

The cold is much more manageable with fur-lined leather encasing him from head to toe. Eskel’s presence is a comforting one beside him, their footsteps nearly silent as they march through the snow.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Geralt says as they break into the tree line. He keeps his voice low and his ears open in hopes of catching any trace of animals. The deer will have bedded down for the winter, but rabbits and squirrels often stay out this far into the snow. If they’re lucky, they might even find a wild boar or turkey. “With Triss. I didn’t mean to harm her. It’s just when Jask winced, I thought—”

Eskel doesn’t let him finish. “I know.” He drops a hand on his brother’s shoulder as he steps over a fallen tree. It’s fresh, having given way under the weight of the snow they’ve already had. Doubtless this next storm will claim many more. “You didn’t hurt her. And I’m sorry as well. I shouldn’t have been there. It’s just the past few weeks, I feel like… like she’s a part of me. Like if I’m not in the same room with her, the sky will start crumbling.”

Geralt snorts softly. “I know the feeling.” He glances at his brother sidelong. His golden gaze is focused on the forest, searching for tracks, but there’s a softness to his face that makes no sense for a hunt. Geralt imagines his own face looks much the same. “So are you…”

“Yes,” Eskel says, not letting him finish. His cheeks darken just a shade or two beneath his scars. It’s good to know Geralt isn’t the only blushing witcher these days. “Before the end of winter, I’d guess.”

“I’m happy for you.”

Eskel turns, catches him looking, and grins. “And I for you, brother.”

A twig snaps nearby and they both fall silent.

Within two hours, the dark clouds have gathered overhead, rumbling steadily as the sky spits bouts of snow down on them. There’s a trio of squirrels hanging from Geralt’s belt and Eskel’s plucking the feathers off a turkey; it’s a bit scrawny, likely left behind when its family traveled down the mountain for the winter, but it’ll serve them well.

Geralt is about to suggest they go further south, try to flush out some rabbits before the snow worsens, when a sound echoes through the forest.

It’s not an animal sound—that would have thrilled him, given him a direction to look for food—or a monster sound—which would have had him reaching for his swords.

Those sounds are predictable, manageable.

This one makes his stomach turn in an instant.

It’s Yennefer. Yelling Geralt’s name.

It’s hard to run uphill through nearly two feet of snow but Geralt manages. They’d wandered quite a distance from the keep in search of game, so it takes him a few minutes to follow the sound of her voice.

She’s descending the hill in front of the gate, trying to follow in Geralt in Eskel’s footprints. She’s in only a cloak over her day clothes, which are soaked up to her hips. She’s shivering, but relaxes when Geralt comes into view, Eskel hot on his heels.

“Geralt! Come quick!” She rushes to him, stumbling over her own half-frozen feet. “It’s Jaskier.”

Geralt’s blood goes cold. No. No, no, no.

“What’s wrong?” he grits out, his voice scraping along his vocal cords like sandpaper. He shouldn’t have left him. He knew he shouldn’t have left him alone. Any number of things could have happened to him. Is he sick? Dying? Did something happen to the pup—

Yennefer reaches him and grips his arms, tipping her worried face up to him. “He needs you. He’s in labor.”

⚘⚘⚘ End of Part one of the Chains of Fate Series ⚘⚘⚘

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