#alpha!geralt

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.

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. 

“Witcher?!” An older man called as he walked into the inn and sat down next to Jaskier, opting to have an exit from the intimidating man.  “I need to hire you,”  He tossed a bag onto the table between them.

“Hmm,”  Geralt grunted eying the small bag of coin.  “What is your problem?”

“Someone has cursed my youngest daughter,”  Jaskier stopped writing in his little book and looked at the man.  He was practically shaking as he spoke.  His hands were clenched together and his lips were pressed together as he stared hard at the table.

“Why?”  Geralt asked flatly.  The man looked up at him his upper lip trembling as he practically growled.

“I allowed her to reject her suitor, does it matter?  Who curses a girl?”  Tears pricked at the father’s eyes and he stood.  “My daughter lives with me and my wife at the edge of the city.  We’re sheep farmers.  Neither of us can live there with her like she is.  Please help her Witcher.  The songs say you can help the afflicted.”  He left the inn at that time.

“You’re gonna help her right?”  Jaskier asked looking over at Geralt.  The white-haired Witcher groaned lowly.

“Your beta senses are not helping you again, Bard.”  Geralt growled.  “That man had the scent of an omega female all over his clothes.”

“Maybe he was sleeping with his wife?”  Jaskier offered as he stood up to follow Geralt.

“He didn’t smell of sex.  And the omega was related to him.  I think his daughter is an omega,”  He said offering some coins to the stable boy.  “Don’t touch my horse,”  He pointed at Roach.

“So you are gonna go check it out,”  Jaskier concludes as he follows behind Geralt.  “Wait, this isn’t where her father lives?”  Jaskier said when they reached the butcher’s home.  “What are we doing here?”

“Her father said he rejected a suitor for her.  He smelt of raw animal and alpha.  There is only one person that fits that description that lives in this town.”

“An alpha?”  Jaskier asked stopping short.  “Are you going to be okay in the same building as him?”

“Yes, Bard.  Alpha’s don’t have issues with each other unless there are other problems,”  Geralt confirmed.

“Right, are there are never other issues,”  The sarcasm dripped from the bard lips as he swung his lute onto his back and the pair walked into the empty butcher’s shop.

“Get out, Witcher,”  A grumpy tall man spoke from behind the counter.

“I just want to know the curse you put on the sheep farmers youngest daughter,”  Geralt asked without much hope.

“Why would I curse a woman I want as my mate?”  the alpha asked in a bored tone.

“Cause her father rejected you?”  Jaskier tossed out nonchalantly.

“I’ll whittle him down,”  The butcher said.  “She’s the only omega in town.  I’m the only constant Alpha.”  The butcher eyed Geralt in an annoyed fashion.  “Now leave.”

“Hmm,”  Geralt groaned before the pair of them left the shop and headed to the farm house.

“You know, if she really is a defenseless, omega,”  Jaskier said as they got to the house.  “Maybe you shouldn’t go in.”  Geralt’s thick arm came into contact with Jaskier’s chest.  It wasn’t hard enough to toss him backward but it was enough to stop the beta.

“You shouldn’t go inside,”  Geralt said firmly.  “I think she might be feral.”  Jaskier took a step back.

“What are you going to do?”  The bard asked.

“What I have to.  I need to try and help her.”  Geralt said, his voice strained.

“I’ll see what I can do,”  Jaskier said giving the Witcher an unnoticed look.

~

You stumbled, feet catching along vines and branches swiping along your arms as if they were trying to catch you. Trap you for the beast that was chasing you. You knew that it was only a matter of time before the howling creature caught up to you, and then you would be dead. You were no match for a werewolf, the thought was laughable.

You could already feel yourself growing weary despite the fact that you hadn’t been running for very long. The only light to brighten your path came from the full moon that hung above you, taunting you as you knew it was the reason for the creature’s appearance. It seemed that the universe was done toying with you, because it wasn’t long before you were thrown to the ground, a loud snarl sounding above you.

You screamed as sharp claws made their way down your leg, dragging you backwards as you reached out to hold onto anything that might save you. As much as you fought it, you could no longer hold back the tears that spilled down your cheeks. You weren’t ready to die. Perhaps part of you should have been, what with your family having gone long before you did, but you weren’t.

You’d never gotten the chance to even travel far outside of your village. No further than the woods. you hadn’t even presented yet. A late bloomer, some had called you. For that, you’d never felt the touch of another man, not even a kiss, and you found yourself regretting all of the suitors you’d rejected out of fear. Fear. How you loathed that word, now. Fear had gotten you nowhere. Nowhere but dead at the hands of a bloodthirsty lycanthrope.

All of your movements were suddenly halted, the pressure on your legs no longer there. You could hear some commotion going on behind you, but you were too exhausted and in too much pain to lift your head. You blinked as your vision began to go blurry, the world tilting as you fought to stay conscious. You couldn’t feel your legs, and part of you wondered if they were even there still.

You could faintly make out the sound of flesh being cut, a most grotesque sound that you were unfortunately familiar with. There was a pained howl, a few grunts, and then all was quiet. Well, if you didn’t count the sound of your labored breathing. You heard footsteps nearing you, and you didn’t have the strength to be concerned. Black boots filled your vision just as you succumbed to the darkness.

You woke with a start, sitting up with a gasp as you blinked. Your eyes were wide as you fought to understand where you were and what was happening. You were in a bed, and it took you a moment to realize that it was your own. You were in your home. Had it all been a dream? At that thought, you threw the covers back and took in the bandages on your legs.

No. It had happened. Then how…?

“You’re awake,” a deep voice grumbled, startling you.

A loud yelp left your lips as you turned your head, eyes landing on a large figure sitting in your tiny chair in the dark corner. The sight would have been laughable if you weren’t currently terrified.

“Wh-who are you?” you breathed.

He said nothing at first, but eventually, with an annoyed grunt, he rose and stepped into the light that shone through the window. You sharply inhaled as your eyes landed on his tall figure. He was just as the whispers said he was.

A tall, broad and almost frightening mountain of a man with white hair. The women at the brothel were familiar with him. He’d been known to pass through town every now and again, but you’d never had the pleasure of meeting him yourself. Truth be told, you had always been a bit relieved by that. While the women of the brothel never spoke ill of him, they did always utter one thing about him that terrified you.

Alpha.

Your town was small. So small in fact, that the only alpha to have ever been around growing up was your father. He’d died when you were fairly young, but you heard the way your friends spoke of alphas, and the thought of being around a man like that who wasn’t your father unnerved you. Sometimes alphas passed through, stopping at the brothel, and most times, they weren’t nice to the women who worked there, a good number of them omegas.

“You’re the Witcher,” you whispered. “Geralt…of Rivia.”

“That is what some call me,” was his simple reply.

You blinked again before fingering the bandages on your legs, mouth parting as you pieced everything together.

“You saved me,” you said, looking up at him in awe. “Thank you.”

He simply hummed in response, and you realized your friends’ words were true. He was not much of a talker. At least, that was what you thought.

“Why were you out in the woods alone on a full moon?” he asked, nostrils flaring.

You frowned at his tone, not liking the condescending and accusatory feeling it gave you.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you huffed. “I’m a healer. I needed a type of leaf at the last minute for an antidote I was making. I didn’t expect to get lost, and because I was in a hurry, I didn’t note the time of day when I left. Night had come and the moon had risen before I knew it.”

He simply eyed you for a while, nostrils flaring again before humming in response, and you sighed.

“You will need to rest a few more days before you are well enough to be on your own. That is when I will take my leave,” he told you, walking back over to the chair.

“How did you know what to use? For my injuries,” you clarified.

He made a noise, and you imagined he was smirking at you as he lowered himself down.

“I’m not a complete brute. I do have some knowledge of certain herbs and remedies. It would not be the first time I’ve had to tend to werewolf wounds. You are lucky to be alive, (Y/N).”

Your eyes widened, a quiet gasp leaving your lips as you stared at him.

“How do you know my name, witcher?” you asked, ignoring the confirmation that you had indeed been close to death.

“The women at the brothel speak of you often. Fondly,” he added as an afterthought. “It seems your talents are much appreciated there. Especially with…less than gentlemanly customers.”

“They’re my friends.”

There was that sound again, and you realized now that it was a small chuckle.

“That was not expected.”

“What? You think someone like me can’t be friends with women like that? They look out for me…ever since my family died. They always share their earnings with me and tip me more than enough for my services.”

He didn’t reply to that.

“They’re the only family I have. Everyone else in this town revealed their true colors when I was left with nothing,” you whispered.

“Mm. You should rest.”

“I feel like I’ve been resting for days,” you complained, pulling the covers back over your legs.

“You have,” he confirmed. “…but there is no such thing as too much respite when talking of a werewolf injury.”

You nodded, sighing as you laid back down, oddly comforted by the presence of the Witcher.

You clutched your stomach as you picked at your food, forcing yourself to eat. You needed your strength after all, but you found it difficult. Sharp pains were traveling through your abdomen, sometimes bleeding into your spine, and you didn’t know why. To make matters worse, you were starting to get feverish. You sighed, praying the Witcher would come back from town soon, because you were afraid.

What if he wasn’t as well equipped at remedies as he stated? What if he had used the wrong thing? What if it had only delayed your problems and you were actually dying? After all, he’d said himself that you’d been so close. You set your food onto the table next to your bed before forcing yourself to stand.

You hissed, bending over and clutching your stomach. The pain was beginning to get a bit unbearable, and tears sprung to your eyes. You began to walk out of your room, but your legs shook too much, and had you not had one hand on the wall, you surely would have collapsed. You gasped as the intensity grew, swallowing as you fought not to panic. You eventually did collapse, unable to hold yourself up.

“Geralt… Geralt where are you,” you quietly wondered.

You were positive that you were on the brink of death, because that was exactly what it felt like. Your vision wavered as you swayed in and out of consciousness. You weren’t sure how long you laid there, skin dewy with sweat, but you eventually heard your front door banging against the wall as it flew open. You groaned, barely lifting your head as thunderous footsteps made their way to you.

“Geralt,” you breathed in relief. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

His eyes were hard, and his teeth were bared as he stood in your doorway.

“What? What is it?” you asked, worried that another monster, a bloodthirsty creature of some sort, was near.

“You are in pain,” he growled the observation through clenched teeth.

You winced as another stab of pain shot through you, as if to confirm what he was saying.

“Yes,” you panted. “Are you sure you used what you were supposed to? I feel like I’m dying.”

He slowly exhaled as he stared at you, repeating the action before you realized that he seemed to be restraining himself. His hands were clenched into fists as he turned his face away from you.

“That is not it. You’re not dying… Not yet,” he breathed.

“I don’t understand…,” you replied, shaking your head.

“You did not have a scent,” he said, throwing you off.

“I’m sorry?” you asked in confusion, trying to make sense of his bewildering words as pain continued to plague you.

“When I first met you, you did not have a scent. You never did all this time. Now you do,” he slowly explained.

Your eyes widened as you processed his words, trembling. Deformed was what some people in town would call you. The girls at the brothel simply said you were a late bloomer, assuring you that you would present someday. It was just like your luck for that day to come now.

“No,” you breathed in disbelief.

Your nightshift was becoming soaked with your sweat, and your arms shook as you tried to push yourself up. You could feel it now, a slick between your legs that was not that before.

How did you not realize? You’d seen this before with presenting omegas, plenty of times in fact. You hesitantly lifted your gaze, meeting that of Geralt’s whose eyes were already on you. There was a brief thick silence between the two of you before he eventually lowered his head, shoulders heaving with a sigh. When he straightened, his eyes were hard with determination, and you frantically fought to get up.

“Geralt,” you began to protest, but he was already before you, lifting you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

You beat your hands against his chest when he lowered you to your bed.

“Please, I…”

“Do you wish to die?”

You slammed your mouth shut, looking at him with wide eyes and a fluttering heart.

“You know that is what could happen during your first heat. Do you want to take that chance?”

“I-I’ve never…,” you trailed off, glancing away. “I will survive. I know I will.”

You were strong, and you had faith, but you prayed anyway that you would indeed survive. Geralt sighed, jaw clenched as he continued to hold himself off, looking down at you. You were trembling in his arms, pains wracking your frame as you continued to burn. His eyes trailed down your glistening neck, lingering on your heaving chest as his grip on you tightened.

“I know you will, too,” he agreed just before pressing his lips to your neck.

You gasped, the intense feeling shooting through you taking you by surprise. You reached up to press your hand against his shoulder, but he reached up to grip your wrist. You gasped again when he pinned it beside your head and pressed his lips to your open mouth. You couldn’t stop the moan that escaped you when he rolled his hips against yours.

Your senses were becoming clouded, and you felt yourself wanting to bend to his will. You arched your back, baring your neck to him as he trailed kisses down it, and you felt him growl into the skin. You were at war with yourself, your body and mind fighting against one another as he evoked unfamiliar feelings from you.

His hands tore at your clothing, a sigh of relief escaping you as the cool air hit your feverish frame. You were borderline delirious as he undressed himself, and you found yourself helping him, desperately needing to feel his skin on yours. His hand framed your jaw as he nipped at the skin there, his fair hair brushing along your face.

“I would like nothing more than to devour you, singing between your thighs, properly preparing you, but we must save it for later. There isn’t time, and I won’t have you dying on me, little omega,” he huskily murmured against your skin.

You could feel the slickness dripping down your thighs, and you mewled when he pressed himself against you. He sharply inhaled, breathing you in as he lifted his head to hold your gaze. You dug your nails into his arm, bucking against him when he reached down to grip himself in his hand. You could feel the tip of him against your opening, and you whimpered, both in fear and anticipation.

You did not want this. You could remember that much through the haze. Had it been your choice, you would have taken the chances of surviving your first heat without an alpha there to sate you. The omega in you, the very thing that was a part of your genetic makeup, was seconds away from begging for his knot. You wanted him to hold you down as he fucked you, filling your womb with his seed.

He pressed one hand to your hips, pinning you down and halting your movements. Your chest heaved, a small whine climbing out of your throat.

“Geralt…Geralt, please,” you begged.

You tried to move, but his grip was firm.

“Alpha…please,” you whimpered, and that was his undoing.

In one swift movement, he was inside of you. Despite the slickness, your walls still struggled to accommodate him, and you gasped. One hand came up to lightly grip your neck, pressing his lips against yours to swallow your whimpers. Your legs shook around him, and you could feel his grip on both your neck and hip tighten as he fought to control himself.

You let your head fall back onto the bed, eyes screwed shut when he began to move. Everything was so intense, and you couldn’t make sense of all of the things you were feeling. You peeled your eyes open, watching him as he surged against you, feeling him deep in your gut so strongly it almost hurt. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him even if you tried. His teeth were bared as he focused on where the two of you were connected, hair swinging around his face.

Both of his hands rested on either side of you now, pressing into the mattress, feeling almost caged in as he thrust into your core. His movements were slow, calculated even, but the force behind his thrusts were anything but weak. The bed rocked with the two of you, bumping into your wall. He held your gaze, watching your face as pleasure danced across it.

You hissed when he suddenly pulled out of you, gripping your hips to turn you over onto your stomach. You barely had time to prepare yourself before he was sliding inside of you again. You whimpered, reaching out to clutch your pillow as you adjusted to this new angle. It was a bit uncomfortable, and you reached back, but he gripped your hand, pressing it to the small of your back as pressed his hard chest against you.

“Breathe, little one. It’s alright,” he whispered against your ear.

“I-I can’t…,” you trailed off with a gasp when his hips met your flesh again.

“You can,” he urged. “You can take it. Just relax as you did before.”

You struggled to do that, panting while his thick cock slid against your walls. Your face was lowered, forehead grazing your bed as you took him.

“That’s it,” he praised. “Relax. Let me take care of you…”

You did, and soon you were whimpering again, an unfamiliar heat building in your stomach. It overwhelmed you, and you squirmed.

“Do you want my seed? Is that what you want? What you need?” he growled.

You gasped, struggling to catch your breath as he sped up. He brushed his nose along the skin behind your ear.

“How about my teeth in your pretty neck, hmm? Perhaps that will suit you. It would suit me…to mark you as mine…granting myself with the pleasure of being the only one to touch you like this.”

You moaned, his words going straight to your core, and you clenched around him. You saw stars, trembling beneath him as you milked his cock, struggling to focus on what was before you as he continued to thrust.

“Geralt,” you mumbled when he didn’t let up. “Geralt.”

“You have another in you,” he grunted, flesh slapping against yours now.

“N-no,” you stuttered, but even as you said that, you could feel the coil tightening again.

“Come on, little omega. Give me one more, come with me this time,” he encouraged.

Your breath hitched, and you pushed yourself onto your elbows, tears kissing your eyelashes as you whimpered beneath him. You felt spent, but he was determined to bring you over the edge again. His lips brushed against your neck, teeth grazing the skin as he rutted into you.

Your heart sped up when he reached underneath you to rub his fingers against you. You jerked, taken aback by the pleasure, a choked gasp leaving you.

“That’s it. Let it go,” he grunted.

You came again, and he came with you, sinking his teeth into the skin where your neck and shoulder met. You cried out, tears spilling over now as you fought to get away from his mouth, but he had you pinned beneath him. You continued to clench around him, body spasming as his teeth remained, marking you. One hand pressed into the mattress while the other pressed into your stomach, pulling you up with him.

He rolled over onto his side, still inside you, before finally releasing your neck. You whimpered, sighing as he run his tongue over your skin. His nose grazed your ear, breathing you in, and he tightened his arms around you.

“We have a long night ahead of us, little omega. Sleep, (Y/N).”

And you did.