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Jaskier was brilliant at many things. He was a phenomenal musician, possibly the most talented bard that Oxenfurt had ever produced, and his skill on the lute would put the gods to shame. Everyone knew that his lyrics could bring tears to the ice queen herself, and he could dance circles around all of the Continent’s nobility.
What he wasn’t good at was time.
Time, days… months.
All very inconvenient for an omega with a heat cycle.
Which was how Jaskier found himself in the middle of the tavern, pre-heat fogging his mind, and slick pouring out his arse. He was in trouble…. Big trouble.
“G-Geralt,” he whimpered as he tried to push his way through the crowd, barely able to keep a tight grip on his lute. The scent of the alphas in the tavern was almost overwhelming, and he could feel the heat of their stares on his back.
But they weren’t his alpha.
“F-fuck, Geralt!” he called out, knowing the witcher was close, knowing he would hear.
Blasted alpha should have mated Jaskier during his last heat. It would have saved them both the trouble. No one was daft enough to go after a bonded omega, especially one bonded to a witcher, that was practically a death sentence.
“Where’ you going, sweetheart?” an alpha forced their way into his path and Jaskier felt a fresh gush of slick escape him, his body reacting to the proximity.
“Geralt, alpha,” he whined stupidly, struggling against the sudden hand tightening around his forearm, the alpha’s nose running along his jaw, scenting him. “No!”
“Pretty little omega,” they growled, and Jaskier flinched as their teeth grazed along his neck.
They smelled so good, raw alpha musk, ready to breed him, and his inner omega squirmed, wanting nothing more than to give in. Sex with alphas was always his favourite, the way their knots felt stretching his hole, locking them together. Fuck, it was like seeing the goddess Melitele herself, and gods, alphas were always so brutal, leaving him breathless and boneless after a night of bliss.
But he didn’t want them, he wanted Geralt.
Ever since Geralt had started helping him through his heats when they were together, Jaskier’s heart had claimed the witcher as his, and no other alpha could compare.
“Get off me,” he hissed, shoving the alpha back as forcefully as he could.
They stumbled back, surprised by his strength as alphas often were, but before he could run they were back on him, angry now that he had tried to fight back.
Shit.
“G-Geralt!” he yelled louder.
Fuck.
The witcher must still be out chasing drowners or whatever.
Oh, he was really in trouble.
Fucking alphas and their mindless idiotic brains. Gods, they couldn’t think with their head for one second. Was it any miracle that omegas ruled the Continent? Sure, the alphas wore the crowns, but everyone knew the omegas pulled the strings, more adept at the complexities of politics.
Brains over brawn.
Jaskier needed to be quick to find his way out of this. He scanned the room, looking for any opportunity, taking note of the numbers.
He was the only omega.
There were a handful of betas by the bar, but the rest of the room was packed with alphas.
Perfect.
He closed his eyes and focussed on letting his pre-heat stench fill the room, calling out for potential mates, and delighting in the glazed over look that came across every alpha’s face. There was a rumble of snarls as the posturing began, and soon the idiots would all be at each other’s throats, giving Jaskier a chance to slip away and find his alpha.
Quietly, Jaskier pushed open the door, just a crack, and then followed the track towards the river, half stumbling, head spinning, the fresh air like ice against his burning skin.
Geralt. Alpha. Knot.
“Fuck,” he whimpered, falling against a tree, pushing his arse against the bark and scrambling to pull at his trousers.
He needed something inside him.
His trousers were soaked through, ruined, but it didn’t matter, not anymore. Nothing mattered, only Geralt.
Only his alpha.
“Geralt!” he called, scenting the air for any trace of his alpha, but he was no witcher and he couldn’t find Geralt from miles away. He was stuck, lost, alone.
And so very empty.
“Fuck, it hurts,” he whimpered as he fell to his knees.
The ground was rough beneath his legs, twigs and leaves digging into the flesh of his bare thighs, and the dirt that smeared with his slick left his omega crying out in disgust. It was far from the extravagant nests he preferred to make at Oxenfurt or even, on occasion, at Kaer Morhen. He didn’t even have one of Geralt’s shirts. It wasn’t soft or comforting, and if any alpha saw him they’d be ashamed.
Geralt wouldn’t want him.
Gods, no wonder the alpha hadn’t wanted to bond with him. He was a mess, a completely pitiful excuse for an omega. Lost in the woods, half a second from shoving his own fist up his arse just to feel less alone, but the burning, the hollow empty feeling wouldn’t go away.
A loud roar of an alpha snapped him from his thoughts and his nostrils flared.
Geralt.
“Jaskier, what the fuck?” Geralt’s hands were on Jaskier’s face, cupping his cheeks, sliding under his jaw so his wrist pressed against Jaskier’s scent gland. “You’re in heat.”
“Hadn’t noticed, thanks.”
“You didn’t tell me,” Geralt rumbled, voice low, soothing, the alpha pheromones he was giving out settling Jaskier almost immediately, making him chirp as he nuzzled against Geralt’s wrist.
“Forgot,” he slurred.
“Julek.” Geralt’s voice was so gentle, so tender, it almost cut through the fog of Jaskier’s heat hazed mind but instead, the sound of his alpha, his mate, had him whining once more.
He lunged forwards to capture Geralt’s lips in a bruising kiss, knocking their noses together, and their teeth clattered. Geralt groaned into Jaskier’s mouth, tongue swiping along his bottom lip, and the taste of shitty ale and bitter witcher potions melting together unpleasantly. But it felt like the best kiss of Jaskier’s life, and he clawed at Geralt’s armour, desperate to divulge the witcher of the restraints of his clothes.
“I need- please,” he whined.
“Shh, omega, I’ve got you,” Geralt promised, knocking Jaskier’s hands aside so he could unbuckle his armour more efficiently than Jaskier could in his current state.
“Fuck, I’m so empty. I need you, alpha, Geralt, I- I-” Jaskier’s words fell into wordless babbles, choked off moans and pitiful whimpering as Geralt’s fingers pushed into his leaking hole. He wasn’t sure how many it was, but it felt like a lot… nearing the stretch of Geralt's fist. “Oh, fuck!”
“That’s it.”
“G-Geralt!”
The alpha growled, tearing at the remains of Jaskier’s clothes as he was pushed hard against the tree. The slick was wet and sticky on his thighs, allowing Geralt’s hand to fuck him with ease, brushing up against his sweet spot with every crook of Geralt’s fingers. Jaskier gripped onto the witcher’s shoulders, biting at the exposed skin now that there was just a loose black shirt hanging off Geralt’s muscles. His legs wrapped against Geralt’s waist as he writhed against his alpha, his little cocklet leaking and aching between them.
“More,” he gasped, hands in Geralt’s hair, scraping against his scalp. “Fuck me, mate me… please, a-alpha… knot… I need…”
“Fuck, Jask… smell so good, my omega.”
“Yours, yours. Alpha, please,” he whined.
The alpha’s hand pulled out of him, a gush of slick following it and Jaskier keened, tears prickling in his eyes. Empty, he felt so empty. It wasn’t fair. He needed more.
More.
More.
Geralt’s teeth sunk into his neck, the smell of blood filling the air as the mating bond snapped into place, turning Jaskier’s whole world upside down. He could feel Geralt’s arousal burning bright next to his, the desire to fuck, to knot, to bite. His own sweet omega scent clouded his alpha’s mind.
Gods, it felt divine, knowing how much power he held over this incredible beast of a man.
“Knot me,” he begged, “now, alpha.”
And with a feral snarl, Geralt finally forced his cock inside Jaskier, so much thicker and longer than his fingers. Jaskier howled, legs tightening around Geralt’s arse as his head fell back against the tree, sweat already trickling down into his eyes. He panted with every thrust, Geralt’s cock pushing deeper and deeper inside him until he felt like he was going to explode, so full, ready to be bred like a bitch.
One hand slipped to his stomach, feeling the bulge of Geralt’s cock stretching beneath the skin. They both moaned as Jaskier massaged the bulge, and Geralt’s lips found his, biting in between messy breaths, hands pinning Jaskier’s wrists to the tree. Jaskier was vaguely aware of the stream of curses and nonsensical pleas that were escaping him but he didn’t care, already Geralt’s knot was thickening, pushing at his rim.
But oh gods, he was already so full.
“Fuck!” he cried as the knot popped inside, stuffing him fuller than he’d been since his last heat. His entire body felt like it was burning up as his pleasure seared through him, making the world fade to black. All he could feel was Geralt’s cum spilling into his arse, the knot tugging at his rim as Geralt continued to rut against him, pushing the cum deeper.
Geralt just hummed, still pinning Jaskier to the tree as he lapped at the bite on his neck, the alpha saliva cleaning the wound. When Jaskier’s head finally stopped spinning, he wriggled from Geralt’s grasp, resting his arms on his alpha’s shoulders and curling up against his chest. The alpha was purring and he nuzzled into Jaskier’s hair.
“My omega,” Geralt whispered, and Jaskier could feel just how much that meant to him, the flutter of Geralt’s heart next to his.
Jaskier let out a quiet chirp, and rubbed his cheek against his Alpha’s neck. “My alpha,” he replied before falling into a blissful slumber.