#omega!jaskier

[hailhailsatan]

Alpha Geralt blasting igni at nothing to leave residual warmth in his hands. Hands that he'll use to rub Omega Jaskier's tummy and press against his forehead when he's cramping before a heat.

[cyberrat]

89th Batch Of Fics: 7th Fill

Geralt/Gaetan/Jaskier – Part 1/4 – a/b/o; alpha!Geralt; alpha!Gaetan; omega!Jaskier; hurt/comfort; magic healing dick – The aftermath of the quest 'Where the Cat and Wolf play...' unfolds in a rather different manner.

A fix-it for Gaetan.

---

“Wanna kill me, wolf? Fine, draw your blade. But don’t force me to confess.”

Geralt is standing like a statue, staring at the wounded brother across from him. Gaetan looks exhausted, his hand continuously pressing against the wound on his side. He smells sour; the scent of distress rolling off his shoulders despite his posture being carefully calm and collected. He’s not quite looking Geralt in the eyes, his gaze always thrown just across his shoulder.

Looking at Jaskier hanging carefully in the back. He is not showing any signs of it but there is no doubt in Geralt’s mind that he’s already picked up on the fact that Jaskier is an Omega. It’s difficult to ignore him even without the alluring scent sneaking off of him and permeating the peaceful space of the stone circle they’re in.

Gaetan shifts a little on the bench he’s hunched on, the tension becoming clearer as he waits for Geralt’s verdict about the massacre.

Geralt’s shoulders droop minimally. He shakes his head once to the side and murmurs: “Take care, now.”

He can see the reluctant surprise in Gaetan’s eyes even though the other’s face barely twitches. Suddenly, the Alpha forces himself up of his protective hunch around his injured side and into a stiff backed stance.

They both know he is in no shape to fight, but his yellow eyes flick back toward Jaskier yet again. He’s posturing for the Omega; something so surprisingly and endearingly base that it has Geralt’s lips tick up despite the other Alpha’s challenging growl: “That’s it? Not gonna lecture me? Make me promise to change my ways?”

Geralt tilts his head again in a shake, this time to the other side, his eyes never leaving Gaetan but one of his hands moving from his belt, twisting back and urging Jaskier closer with a small twitch of his fingers.

Gaetan watches it all, tense but not about to start a fight with an Alpha over their Omega. Not in the state he is currently in. Not when Geralt is a brother.

“You are an adult,” Geralt says quietly, hearing how Jaskier inches his way closer behind him. He’s reluctant but sometimes, blessedly, he just follows orders without arguing. “We all are. I am not about to lecture you. And…” he pauses briefly, face twisting. “I know how things can be sometimes. Heads… just roll.”

Jaskier makes a soft noise behind him; almost the sound of a mouse squeaking. “What do you mean heads just roll?! Mister wolf here butchered the whole village!”

“Cat,” Gaetan corrects, though it sounds distracted. He is angling his body a little to the side to peer around Geralt’s broad physique at the Omega behind him. He still tries to remain stiff and upright but his hand is drifting toward his side and pressing against the wounds there. “Your Alpha and I… are of different schools.”

Jaskier makes an exasperated sound. He does not correct Gaetan from his assumption that they are mated, though, Geralt notices with some amusement. He probably is afraid of what might happen if he were. Maybe he wonders if the other Alpha would jump him if he realized Jaskier was free. Unmated. A juicy morsel ripe for the plucking.

Geralt tries to see Gaetan the way Jaskier might. He looks foreboding, he supposes; with the nasty scar who showed how close he had been to being blinded on that eye. His shaven head making him look more… standoffish, he supposes?

To Geralt, he just looks tired and hurting; the past hours having put a toll on the cat Witcher and making him more susceptible to showing his emotions – what little there were. He doesn’t look like he wants to fight, no matter the posturing. Just an exhausted Alpha wanting to keep face in front of a pretty little Omega treat.

Said Omega treat is speaking now – of course he is; no force on the planet could get Jaskier to shut his pretty little mouth – his voice trembling with nerves: “So uh… what happens now?”

Geralt can feel the slight pressure of Jaskier’s slim fingers sliding into the back of his belt. Not in a flirtatious way; more something to seek reassurance. It’s surprising but not uncommon. Every blue moon something would actually stab the bubble of overboarding self-confidence the Omega had amassed and he would look at Geralt for guidance.

He tried not to let that get to his head all too much by wondering about what it had been this time. Gaetan was being docile, all things considered, though his eyes have yet to leave Jaskier; staring at him unblinking.

“That depends on Gaetan,” Geralt drawls slowly. That gets him the attention of the other Alpha, Gaetan’s scar twisting as his brows pull together in confusion.

Jaskier, however, picks up on his meaning right away and tugs on Geralt’s belt.

“Hey, uh… hey. Big guy. Can I talk to you for a second? Like… in private?”

Geralt considers ignoring it, but he can feel the growing tension between the two and decides that it would be better to humor Jaskier. He lifts a finger at Gaetan in a ‘one moment please’ gesture and turns, letting himself get pulled to a nearby tree.

Not, he notes with another burst of quiet amusement, far away to be out of Gaetan’s earshot. He can see from the corner of his eye how the other Alpha shamelessly listens in.

Jaskier’s face is scrunched up, his cheeks flushed. He looks angry but a deep inhale lets Geralt know that he is. Not really. Not only.

“What are you doing?” he whispers, a whine laced in his voice that skitters warm little fingertips down Geralt’s spine and has him tamp down on a soothing rumble that wants to start up in his chest. He likes when Jaskier whines.

He tilts his head a little, staring unblinkingly at Jaskier simply because he knows it unnerves the Omega.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Jaskier falters, mouth opening, then closing, then opening again. Geralt can see his slick, dark tongue. He wants to feel it lapping at his knot. He wants Gaetan to feel it soothing the dull ache that comes hand in hand with an Alpha’s arousal and subsequent release.

Jaskier glances briefly over at the other Alpha. Geralt can already smell that he’s made his choice even though Jaskier himself hasn’t consciously registered as much.

“He’s not safe,” Jaskier insists softly. Now that he’s looked once, his eyes keep drifting back to Gaetan. When Geralt doesn’t immediately reply, he keeps on murmuring: “He smells…”

That has him perk up a little with interest. People that aren’t… like them usually can’t pick up on witchers’ scents. Jaskier, he realized early on, had a very fine nose.

“Yes?” Geralt rumbles low and encouraging. Jaskier is now just stuck staring at Gaetan. The finger that he had used to poke Geralt in the chest with flattens out into a palm that is just weakly pawing at him as he says in an almost dreamlike quality: “He’s hurt… and distressed.”

Geralt licks his lips.

“That he is.” In the corner of his periphery, Gaetan stiffens a little in protest but stays quiet, apparently intrigued where this is going. Geralt slowly shifts, moving an arm around Jaskier’s hips to softly nudge him toward the strange Alpha. “Don’t you want to help?”

[kell-be-belle]

All That Counts Now

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

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier 

Rating: Teen  

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think mature is a better word.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[dapandapod]

Scent of spring

*Obi wan kenobi voice* Hello there! Turns out writers block wasn't as done with me as I thought xDD but I'm fighting it!! So this is a piece written for an a/b/o event we are doing at @thepassifloradiscord, because fun, and there is just something about courting that is just so kdkdfjf. Yes, I'm ok, thank you for asking. So please enjoy this little thing, where Eskel is not enjoyin spring!

Here on Ao3

It’s been pouring down for fucking days. 

Spring is the absolute worst, Eskel thinks to himself as he trudges along muddy roads toward his usual inn. 

Not only because of the shitty weather, but also because of all the monsters approaching their mating season, because of the more than abundant pollen, because stupid Jaskier who doesn’t realize Eskel has been courting him for months.

He probably could have been clearer, but Eskel really thought that Jaskier would have picked up on it by now. 

The flowers, clearly coded in flower language to express his feelings for Jaskier. 

The gift, meant to show his feelings for Jaskier in physical form. The silk shirt, to prove that he could provide for his intended mate. The hand holding, to show that he would always be a bastion of safety, warmth and love for his chosen.

Eskel had felt especially brave about the hand holding, as it is not something witchers do, do they?

 But Jaskier had beamed, laced their fingers together and pressed up against his arms, so what was he to think?

When they had said their goodbyes before the winter, he had angled Jaskier’s chin up and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

And Jaskier had looked so dumbfounded, so gobsmacked, that Eskel had turned tail and ran.

Not the wisest move, he admits to himself, but given the way Jaskier had smiled at him and held his hand... Eskel is simply a man.

A drenched man right now, as he stomps through the puddles with Scorpion at his side. 

Fucking mud, fucking rain, Scorpion needs to go to the ferrier to replace a shoe that disappeared somewhere two days ago. 

Most likely when they were running away from a nest of agitated nekkers, and there is no going back for it.

There is only an hour left until he reaches the inn. 

The letters he had picked up after he made it down that blasted mountain were mostly from Jaskier, writing about missing him, and where they would meet in the upcoming spring.

Which reminds him. Another bad thing with spring is his Rut. It usually hits during the late winter/early spring, just in time for him to make it down the mountain and find a whorehouse, or an incubus, or a succubus, or whatever. 

There is just no way of telling exactly when it'll come.

It doesn’t feel right to meet Jaskier just as it starts, like bad manners, but his body is intent on betraying him. 

If he didn’t know better, he would suspect that his Rut is purposely holding out until they meet. 

Which would mean either running off or dealing with it together. 

And Eskel doesn’t want Jaskier to feel obligated, or like Eskel is assuming things will happen.

Despite the rain, he can smell the smoke from the chimneys from down the road. Maybe less than an hour, then.

Daylight is slowly fading when Eskel reaches the outskirts of the village. 

The inn sits at the crossroads, the little dirt courtyard in front of the stable lined with a rickety fence. There is already light in the windows, and a teenager runs up to meet him and Scorpion when he approaches.

“Is there a farrier in town?” he asks, tossing the boy a copper when he grabs Scorpion’s reins. “Don’t touch his hindlegs, by the way,” he warns.

Eskel almost feels bad about leaving the boy with his stallion, but there is a restlessness twisting in his bones. 

From inside, he can hear the strumming of a lute, sense Jaskier’s scent in the air. Warm and spicy, familiar and safe and enticing. 

The boy stammers out a “Yes, master witcher,” and Eskel is moving. He walks towards the inn's door and slips inside quietly so as to not disturb the performance.

Jaskier sits upon a chair in the corner, where the floor is slightly elevated. From the look of the crowd, Eskel is not the only traveler seeking cover as there are but a few tables free at the front.

There is no fucking way Eskel is going to sit in front of the stage. So by the wall he stands, until a table further back vacates. He orders a serving of tonight's dinner and two ales.

When Jaskier notices him, a secret smile graces his lips, his content scent spiking.

“I’m afraid this will be my last song for tonight, fair folk,” Jaskier informs the tavern, strumming up a gentle tune, eyes lingering on Eskel.

His dinner arrives and he promptly forgets about it, held captive by Jaskier's every word. By a song about hoping, about searching.

The sweet gesture of a daisy tucked lovingly behind your ear. 

The soul-warming sensation of a hand in yours. 

A kiss given when parting is inevitable.

There is thin applause when he finishes up, and Eskel can do nothing but stare when Jaskier packs up and approaches his table.

“Hi you,” he says quietly, smiling down at him.

“Hi yourself,” Eskel manages. “I uh… bought you a drink.”

“Such a gentleman,” Jaskier says, stealing Eskel’s drink anyway, eyes gleaming over the rim of the mug. “Did you find a room yet?”

“Was told it was fully booked.”

“Then stay in mine,” Jaskier offers. Tension builds between them now, much stronger than in the past. “You are absolutely drenched. Eat up so we can head upstairs and get you dried off.”

They make their way up to Jaskier’s room after Eskel finishes his meal. The cold is starting to get to him, at long last. 

There is no fireplace in the room, but they make do. Eskel’s wet clothes are hung over chairs and laid out on the small table, even hanging on the lute case.

There is only one bed, but luckily, it's big enough for the two of them to sleep comfortably.

Eskel still offers to take the floor.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jaskier threatens, wagging his finger. “Witchers may not get sick, no, but they get fucking sore and you will be as grumpy as Geralt in the morning, and that is just a crime.”

Snorting, Eskel relents. Soon the candle is blown out and they have settled in on each side of the bed. 

They lie quietly next to each other, Eskel staring up at the ceiling.

“Uhm. That last song you sang…” Eskel says. daring to break the silence, and Jaskier turns his head to look at him. “That was about us?”

“You noticed.” Jaskier smiles.

“Unlike you,” Eskel teases.

When Jaskier doesn’t say anything for a long moment, Eskel grows nervous.

“Eskel... Were you courting me?”

The witcher blinks and his heart sinks.

“I was. Am. But if I read it all wrong, if you're not interested, I can stop,” Eskel offers quietly.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Jaskier threatens, turning on his side to face him. He reaches for Eskel’s hand. Their fingers lace together like they haven't spent the entire winter season apart. “But maybe this time, I’ll court you back?”

A kiss is pressed to the back of his hand, and Eskel can't stop the ache in his chest. His entire being screams mate, but he is in no hurry. None at all.

“I would like that.”

They end up curled around each other. 

Eskel presses his lips to the back of Jaskier’s neck, a hand against his chest, nestled under his sleeping tunic.

The trust that Jaskier displays baring himself like this, makes Eskel hold him tighter, press him closer. One day he might put a mark there.

Pressing a kiss to the nape of Jaskier’s neck, he spreads his hand wider. He feels greedy, wanting more when he is allowed so much already.

But there is more to talk about, more topics to discuss.

For now, Eskel is more content than he has been in years. The sweet smell of Jaskier, his heartbeat under Eskel’s palm.

Maybe spring isn’t so bad after all.

[omegageralt]

(omega4omega mayybe?) Jaskier carrying around little snacks for geralt bc he knows geralt doesn't notice when he's hungry omega geralt trying very hard not to purr at the attention jaskier not even noticing bc he's trying so hard not to purr at geralt's pleased little expressions when receiving gifts

Cute 🥺

[clown-of-rivia]

Geralt has come across many monsters in his long life. But the worst of them - was men.

Like this man.

A mother approached him in tears, giving him all her jewelry and begging him to find her daughter. When she presented as an omega her husband just saw gold sold her to an omega trader. The trader buys and sells omegas as they have become such a rare group.

Geralt turned down her payment. He would do this for free. Happily.

He followed leads of this disgusting monster till he found their camp just outside Oxenfurt. The camp was heavily guarded by armed dwarves. It would take too long to fight his way in, by which time the alarm would be raised and the girls smuggled out or worse. He would need fight from the inside out.

He grit his teeth and sheathed his swords, approaching the camp.

"Master Witcher," one guard said, nervous. "Afraid this here isn't a place for walk-ins."

"I'm here to-" Geralt hated this "peruse your boss's goods. Heard about his trade."

The guards turned to each other and frowned, oddly gripping their weapons tighter.

"Very well..." the one at the entrance said. "Follow me."

He didn't know what he had expected. Maybe lavish tents that looked like a brothel? But there was no strong scent of sex or alcohol or fear. Instead there were a line of smaller tents, all closed, with soft calm voices inside.

He was lead to the one in the middle. "Boss? Got a Witcher here to see you. To 'see the goods'." The guard announced as they stepped inside, his tone oddly angry.

A man stood from a desk. Again Geralt didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this. A young man, mid 20s maybe, with kind blue eyes that turned hard when he heard the guard.

Geralt knew he had a strong alpha scent. It was intimidating, and almost all of the omegas he had met was cowed by it. Betas were weary of him, and other alphas often saw his presence as a challenge.

He stepped forward and Geralt nearly stepped back as he fully realised who- or rather what - this man was as his heightened Witcher senses took him in.

An omega. Male omega. Incredibly rare and rumoured to be worth a small fortune amongst nobility. Not mated - but not pure. There on his neck - where a mating mark should be is a clear rectangular scar. The mark had been purposefully burned out. Geralt know very few people would be able to withstand such pain.

"You- you're an omega." He said dumbly.

The man paused, then glared, clearly not a wit scared of the alpha Witcher. "And? That a problem?" He cut him off before he could answer. "Not that it matters. I'm afraid I cant let you leave alive. You see - my reputation is carefully designed and needs to stay that way." He draws a wicked dagger from his side and Geralt heards all the guards have surrounded the tent.

"You... you don't really trade omegas do you?" At the man's stormy expression Geralt had his answer. In a quick movement he pulled both his swords and dropped them. "Then I mean you no harm. I came here to hunt a monster. Seems there is none."

It took a few moments of careful assessment before the man put away his own weapon. "You are half right. I inherited a large fortune which I use to buy omegas from those who would sell them to anyone. I bring them here, to Oxenfurt, where they will be safe and taught to defend themselves. I have a mage who can give them herbs to hide their identity, or even change it if they so wish. Most importantly - I give them the choice."

Geralt studied him again. Young but tired, omega but strong, unmated but impure.

"Because you had no choice." He said. Not a question.

The man's eyes flashed. "Astute. Seems the rumours of Witcher intuition and senses are true." He kicked his swords back towards him.

Mind made up Geralt picked up his swords again.

"Call me Geralt." He held out his hand.

"...Jaskier." They shook.

"Well then Jaskier. Any way a Witcher can help you?"

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

I reckon that if Jaskier was an omega that he’d turn real cat like in his pre-heat days. When I say that I mean like he rubs against Geralt a lot in whatever manner he can manage (because he’s gotta cover his mate in his scent somehow and Geralt doesn’t completely hate it.) He brings random little gifts for Geralt (pretty little rocks and trinkets he finds), He’ll randomly massage him whenever because not only does it make Geralt feel good but it also makes Jaskier content and happy.

But like could you imagine how fun that would be to have a cat like Jaskier following Geralt around and the Witcher is confused af because he doesn’t know what’s happening but he likes what’s happening. Then bam! Jaskier’s in heat and Geralt comes to the slow realisation that his bard is basically a cat.

[cyberrat]

89th Batch Of Fics: 9th Fill

Geralt/Gaetan/Jaskier – Part 3/4 – a/b/o; alpha!Geralt; alpha!Gaetan; omega!Jaskier; hurt/comfort; magic healing dick – Jaskier and Geralt just casually breaking Gaetan's little world wide open.

---

When Jaskier finally manages to peel Gaetan’s pants off all the way and ducks his head past his spit wet cock to instead nose beneath his heavy balls, Geralt can basically see the cogs starting to turn in the other Alpha’s head. He’s been downright sweet for them; just quietly growling out his groans, staying nice and placid and letting the Omega service him without trying to take control.

Geralt is not so naive as to think that the behavior doesn’t have in large part to do with the fact that Gaetan is injured. He keeps vigilant, ready to restrain the other if he were to suddenly get shocked out of his stupor by Jaskier’s warm tongue laving warm and needy against his hole.

He is not prepared for the softest little whine to slither out of the other witcher’s throat.

He bites the tip of his tongue to not make a sound. Hands moving slowly, he grasps Gaetan’s throat, fingers just the gentlest points of pressure petting along the skin and feeling the constant sub-vocal Alpha rumble slipping from him. He looks and sounds confused… but his body is all on board for Jaskier slipping his hands beneath Gaetan’s legs and pushing them up enough that he can lap at the other Alpha’s secret little hole.

Jaskier is trilling again. He sounds so damn satisfied with himself. So happy to feel the tension draining from the hurt Alpha’s body; downright addicted to making them feel good.

Gaetan whimpers again when Jaskier shifts; presumably fitting one of his long fingers into the Alpha. Geralt is fascinated. They have yet to find an Alpha that was so good for them; not posturing and struggling and denying the obvious pleasure he felt at getting his sweet little hole opened up by an Omega.

Jaskier pauses suddenly, his head lifting, mouth and chin glistening with spit. His eyes look animalistic but also calculating as he stares at Gaetan. It takes Geralt a second longer to notice his smell as well – and damn was Jaskier’s nose sensitive. There’s the soft tendrils of distress creeping off from the other Alpha. It’s just sour enough to make Geralt’s mouth flood with saliva.

He swallows thickly, his hips angling up, pressing the warm bulge of his erection against Gaetan’s naked ass.

Jaskier tilts his head. His bicep flexes and Gaetan throws his head back against Geralt’s collar bones as the Omega slowly pumps his fingers through the clench of his desperate body.

Jaskier flicks his eyes up to Geralt. They stare at each other for but a moment before Geralt understands what the Omega wants. He gives him a little nod – and begins to move.

Gaetan struggles briefly, then hisses in pain from the wounds. Jaskier no-doubt will tend to them in a bit; but first they need to satisfy that animal need inside them.

“What is… what are you-” Gaetan fights them just as long as it takes him to realize that Jaskier has presented for him, his pristine powder blue pants down around his knees and no longer as pristine; ass up in the air with slick visibly glistening between the furry cheeks. He’s got one shoulder on the ground and twists just enough to peer at the Alphas behind him.

His trill this time is not airy and light but low and throaty and amorous; urging the Alphas to come closer and take him. Knot him. Breed him.

Gaetan does not ask for permission but he gets it anyway by way of Geralt simply letting go of him and watching the injured Alpha awkwardly crawl closer. He’s pushing through the pain that his body must be in, not showing much more than a mild wince whenever the ripped muscles on that side have to work through their ache.

Despite it all, he does not want the pretty Omega to see him off-kilter. Geralt smirks privately, hands working on the bindings of his own pants. He keeps a careful eye on the both of them. While his earlier assessment of Gaetan not appearing to be aggressive still stands, he is not willing to risk Jaskier when he is this obedient and in such a vulnerable position.

Just like Jaskier before him, Gaetan’s first move is not to mount up and fuck but to bury his face between the Omega’s hairy cheeks and find his slippery hole nose first. Interesting.

Geralt cocks his head slightly, fingers light on his erection as he circles it and thumbs the tip; gathering slick and slowly spreading it across the warm, silky skin of his shaft.

Jaskier seems surprised – as well he might be. In all the encounters Geralt had carefully watched him have with Alphas, none of them had used their tongues on him; not for more than a perfunctory swipe to check his general readiness and coat the insides of their mouths with the fragrant, thick slick he generously produces.

Gaetan growls softly, hands fluttering about Jaskier’s hairy thighs, then carefully grasping on to them as he pushes in even deeper. The sound of his tongue and lips against the Omega’s warm little pussy are delightfully wet. Messy smacks of kisses and sucks and self-indulgent licks that quickly have Jaskier singing for them in a whole different way than he usually likes to do.

Geralt’s quiet little smirk becomes wider as he shuffles closer to the both of them. He hesitates for a moment, gaze traveling along Gaetan’s bend-over form, eyes taking in his grip that he has on Jaskier. He seems completely spellbound by how open the pretty Omega is. How eagerly he angles himself back and trills and simpers at him as if they’d been mates for years.

Deciding to take the risk, Geralt leans down and wraps his arms around Gaetan’s hips, cock slotting in against his warm little behind.

Time stills as the other Alpha lifts his head, Jaskier dripping from his chin in slow, stretching strands of glistening slick. He turns his head just enough to watch Geralt from the corner of his eye, his feline pupils pulled together into thin, aggressive slices. He is instantly wary, though Jaskier crooning at him and cutely ducking his chest down against the ground like a playing kitten somewhat distracts him from whatever immediate violent outburst might be lurking underneath his skin.

“What are you playing at, master Witcher?” Gaetan asks softly, his voice barely audible above the low growl rumbling in his chest.

Geralt does not immediately reply; not with words, at least. He hums low and gives his hips a slow roll, dragging his cock between the other Alpha’s cheeks, letting the yet soft folds of his knot brush against his sweet little hole.

Gaetan stiffens further in his grip but he has yet to lash out at him, which is a good sign, Geralt decides as he gently curls himself about the smaller Alpha’s back and hooks his chin across his shoulder so to whisper into his ear: “Jaskier is enamored with you. I think he would like to tend to your… wounds… for a while longer yet. And I do not mind having you around us. At least until the next settlement. And maybe…”

Maybe longer. He does not say it but the meaning is clear.

He waits for Gaetan’s decision as Jaskier is growing more restless by the second; trying for pathetic and horny in a ditch effort to get the Alphas’ attention on him.

Gaetan is quiet, gaze shifty; but he has yet to buck Geralt off which is a good sign.

He waits patiently.