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When an omega reaches maturity, they immediately become a temptation for any alpha that crosses their path. That is twice as true for omegas of noble birth, because who wouldn’t want to sow their seed in a noble womb and elevate their station?
That’s why Guardians were created.
Any family that can afford it hires a Guardian for their omega. A Guardian is an alpha that has been trained from a young age to be an unmated omega’s perfect companion. They are castrated and thus have an absolutely minimal sex drive, posing no threat to an omega’s virginity. Through a modification of their alpha instincts, they are able to fixate on their omega ward as if it were their actual mate without a mating bite, and this pseudo-bond makes them incredibly fierce and absolutely loyal protectors. A Guardian’s only purpose in life is to protect their assigned omega from any harm, and most importantly, protect their virtue until they are married. And then they get hired to Guard another.
Geralt has Guarded five omegas so far, and was successful in protecting each one. His first was the child of some rich merchant, but with every job well done, he was recommended to more and more important families - a baron, two counts, and most recently he worked for a duke. His last assignment was quite the public affair, when he stopped an alpha from abducting his then-ward on their wedding day.
He’s assuming this is how he ended up here, in the throne room of the royal palace, about to meet his new charge.
Geralt always feels a strange anticipation in moments like this. His body and mind are already expecting the intense sensation of imprinting on yet another omega that will never be his, and he can only hope it won’t be an insufferable brat with a penchant for running away or sneaking out.
The door to the throne room opens. The young prince Julian enters, accompanied by his lady’s maid.
Geralt knew, from the portraits he has seen before, that Prince Julian is pretty. But now that he sees him in person, he can confidently say that no painting could ever do him justice. That is an honest, simple observation, a fact, nothing emotional about it. Julian is a boy only dipping his toes into adulthood, blooming like the prettiest flower. He’s all pale skin and dark hair. His brilliant blue eyes are demurely averted, as is proper. Geralt can see that to an alpha, he’s a temptation unlike any other - he would make a lovely spouse even without his royal blood.
He can already see this will be a very difficult assignment. King Alfred has already told him the princely sum he’ll be paid to make sure the young prince remains virtuous for his future alpha. It’s more money than he ever got paid, but then, this is his most important assignment so far, possibly ever. It will be challenging, sure - but if he succeeds, everyone will be tripping over themselves to hire him.
“Julian, this is your Guardian, Geralt,” the king tells his son.
“Geralt,” the Prince says softly. His voice is sweet and melodic. “I have heard a lot about you. I’m glad to have you as my Guardian.”
Geralt bows. “It’s an honour to serve you, Your Royal Highness.”
“Rise, Geralt,” Julian says. “If you’re to Guard me until my marriage, I insist you call me Julian. Or, even better, Jaskier.”
“Julian, that isn’t proper,” the king hisses.
There’s a hard edge to the prince’s voice when he next speaks. “Father,” he says, “Geralt will become my shadow. He will follow me everywhere I go and watch over me as I sleep. If we’re going to be spending so much time together, I refuse to be Your-Royal-Highness-ed the whole time. If I cannot have the freedom of privacy, I’ll at least have the freedom to be called however I want.”
Geralt has to bite his lip so as not to smile. All his charges so far, sooner or later, decided to drop the noble address and had him call them by their name, and he’s pretty sure most other Guardians have similar experiences.
The king’s expression sours, but he doesn’t say anything else. A smug smile appears on Julian’s face.
“Now that we’ve been introduced, I assume this is the part where we bond?” Julian asks, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
“Where I get bound to you,” Geralt corrects him. The act isn’t reciprocal - it isn’t needed for it to work, so why sully an omega with a bond, even if it isn’t a real one? “But yes.”
“Let’s do it,” Julian says. He sounds resigned. “There’s no reason to stall.”
Forming a pseudo-bond is quite easy. Geralt drinks a concoction of hormones that simulates what his body would go through during an actual bonding, and after a few moments of nosing at Julian’s scent glands, his scent imprints clearly in Geralt’s mind.
Geralt’s world is turned upside down. His universe now centers around Julian. He’s ready to kill for him, and he’s more than willing to die for him. He’s Julian’s Guardian.
---
The first few days are intense.
Nothing of interest happens, but Geralt’s emotional state is very fragile as the new bond settles. He’s a professional, though, so it isn’t a problem to keep that from his ward.
Julian’s day-to-day life is calm. He’s a noble unmated omega, so no one expects much of him - he’s mostly supposed to be quiet and look pretty. The latter comes naturally to Julian. The former not so much.
During official functions, he’s quiet and subdued, the picture of a perfect omega. That changes drastically in private: he plays the lute and sings, even composes his own pieces. And when he isn’t making music, he’s chattering relentlessly about anything and everything. He’s content to just talk to himself - he does attempt to engage Geralt in conversation, but he doesn’t seem to particularly care when his Guardian doesn’t answer.
And Geralt, as a rule, tries not to answer. The bond is screaming at him to get to know his omega, to bend to his every whim, but Julian isn’t actually his omega and so Geralt has to keep himself in check. It wouldn’t be wise to form an inappropriate attachment to his ward - anything beyond duty and instinct isn’t desirable for a Guardian.
Not getting attached has never been a problem for Geralt… until now.
All his charges before Julian have been quiet things without much personality, just patiently waiting to be mated off to a wealthy alpha and start popping out heirs, content to ignore Geralt unless it was entirely necessary for them to acknowledge him.
But Julian - Julian seems to be constantly aware of Geralt’s presence. He talks to Geralt, and when Geralt doesn’t answer he talks at Geralt, and when he gets bored of that, he reads or plays or paints or sews, but his eyes flick over to Geralt every once in a while, never forgetting his Guardian is in the room with him.
Some part of Geralt - one buried very, very deep, beneath years and years of training and hard discipline - is always pleased when Julian shows that he’s aware of his presence. He chokes it down, but it always makes him want to purr.
Yeah. Not getting attached might prove to be a problem this time.
---
It’s a few weeks into Geralt’s service when Geralt finally smells heat on the young prince - Geralt has been waiting for it since their bonding, for the moment Julian’s mature scent would bloom with fertility for the first time.
Thus begins the first true trial of Geralt’s service.
It’s late in the morning, and Julian is currently washing his face and armpits with the warm water from the basin the maid brought in, and the swipe of the damp rag over his scent glands releases the pheromones meant to lure in any unmated alpha in vicinity.
The maid - who stayed behind to help the prince dress for breakfast - is a beta, so the smell doesn’t affect her, but Geralt notices it all too well.
“His Royal Highness will take breakfast in his chambers today,” Geralt tells the maid, “you can go and fetch him a tray.”
The maid nods and leaves.
Julian turns to Geralt, looking torn between confused and angry. “After days of silence, you finally speak only to order me where I’ll be breaking my fast?”
“Your heat is starting,” Geralt explains. “You should remain inside your chambers until it runs its course, for your safety.”
Julian deflates at that, evidently smart enough to understand what parading around the palace in his heat could mean for him. “For a week, yes?”
“A week at worst.”
“And you’ll be here with me the whole time?” Julian asks, though he sounds like he already knows the answer.
“I’ll be protecting you while you’re… indisposed,” Geralt agrees. “I’m your last line of defense in case anything happens.”
Julian laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “Ah, yes - horny peasant alphas scaling the palace walls, lecherous guards attempting to break down the door… I’ve been warned.”
There are countless horror stories, masquerading as fairy tales, told to young omegas to show them how they can end up if they’re careless or simply unlucky, most of those carrying over from a time before the creation of first Guardians. “Don’t worry about it too much,” Geralt tells Julian, “you’re the best guarded omega in the country even outside your heat. I doubt anyone will even come close to being dangerous.”
Geralt certainly hopes so - he’s prepared to take on any threat to protect his ward’s chastity, but he won’t complain about an uneventful heat.
With nothing more left to say, Julian dresses. Since they’re going to be staying in his chambers, he forgoes his formal doublet and instead chooses to lounge around in his shirtsleeves and a light pair of breeches.
Geralt takes the time to tell the guards stationed outside about the situation, and sends one of them to inform their captain. Geralt has seen the captain’s plan for the prince’s heat, and he thought it was a solid one - better than any he’s seen so far, since the king had the resources for it.
After their breakfast arrives, Geralt locks the door to Julian’s chambers, and so their isolation begins.
The day passes slowly. They eat breakfast, and then, while Geralt meditates, Julian restlessly picks at the strings of his lute until lunchtime. After eating, he sets his instrument aside and instead picks up a book.
The heat has advanced since the morning. It’s still light on Julian’s scent, but his cheeks are flushed, he’s squeezing his thighs tightly together, and he’s obviously having a hard time focusing on the book of poetry in his hands.
At this point, Geralt would have already expected him to be touching himself - there’s nothing to gain from trying to hold onto his precious control, it will only make his heat more intense later.
“You should take care of yourself, Julian,” Geralt advises. “This won’t pass for another few days at least.”
“Well, I can’t,” Julian says primly, “so I won’t.”
“You don’t know how?” Geralt knows that the upbringing of noble omegas is very strict and that very little people focus on omegas’ pleasure in general, but he thought this was the kind of thing one figured out by themself - he knows nobody taught him, but he still managed to have a good time with his knot, before the chemicals burned all his libido out of him.
Julian splutters, blushing bright red. “I know how,” he growls, crossing his legs. The movement allows Geralt to smell the slick his body has already started producing. “That is not at all the problem.”
“Then what is?” Geralt asks.
Julian gives him a pointed look.
Geralt understands. “If my presence prevents you from seeking relief - “
“Yes!” Julian cries.
“ - then I can’t help you. I need to hear and preferably even see you if I am to effectively protect you, so I’ll need to remain in your room even during your heat.”
Julian sighs. “If you don’t leave, then I won’t be able to get off.”
“You haven’t even tried,” Geralt tells him. “Don’t worry - all omegas are shy at first, but they all learn how to simply ignore their Guardian’s presence.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to ignore your presence,” Julian grumbles, almost inaudible. He smiles, the curl of his mouth bitter. “Though it seems I don’t have a choice.”
Julian tries to hold on longer, but he gets more and more fidgety as the afternoon progresses. He breaks only when he notices that the seat of his breeches is wet, the fabric soaked with his slick.
He sighs, annoyed, tosses his book aside and strips his soiled pants before climbing into his bed, hiding beneath the covers.
“Could you turn away?” he asks Geralt, “or do you really have to watch me touch myself?”
Geralt grunts and turns to watch the door, his back to Julian. He prepares to slip into meditation, as he always does - distant enough to ignore the sound and scent and sight of his ward in the throes of heat, but aware enough to notice a threat.
He can hear Julian gasp softly behind him. The blanket rustles with his movements.
For some reason, Geralt can’t tune it out… so he listens. Geralt has never listened, not even the first time with his first ward. He never dared, because he was trained not to.
Julian whines, part pleasure and part frustration, and the sound fascinates Geralt. It doesn’t stir arousal in him, but it makes him feel something. It tugs at the bond, and his instincts want him to act.
Julian swears, words so filthy Geralt wouldn’t expect a prince to know them. “I can’t - I just can’t stop thinking about you,” Julian complains.
Geralt’s breath catches in his throat. He knows what Julian meant to say, but to phrase it like this... it’s either a slip of the tongue or a deliberate choice, and Geralt doesn’t know what to do with either of those - he only knows that the part hidden deep inside him, the part that enjoys when Julian notices him - that part of him sings.
Geralt has no idea at all what possesses him to say, “I can help you, if you want.”
“What?” Julian squeaks, “What do you mean?”
Geralt shouldn’t have said that. He can’t unsay it, though, so he takes a deep breath and elaborates. “If you can’t get yourself off because I am distracting you, I feel it’s my duty to remedy that in whichever way I am able to. I am unable to leave, but I could… join you.”
Julian is silent for a long while. “I didn’t know that Guardians do that.”
They don’t, as far as Geralt knows - but he doesn’t think anyone could resist serving Julian. “I am bound to serve you, in every way. It’s up to you to decide the terms of my service, my lord.”
Julian takes time to think it over, and Geralt waits for his verdict with bated breath.
“Come join me, Geralt,” Julian says at last.
The order hits Geralt like a physical thing. Despite the urgency it creates, he approaches the bed slowly, careful not to spook his charge. Julian is flushed, his hair is mussed. He’s still hiding under the covers. Geralt takes hold of the blanket to tug it aside, but Julian doesn’t release it.
Geralt looks up to Julian’s face, a question on his lips. Julian meets his eye, his expression solemn and serious.
“Will I - will I remain a virgin, if you join me?” Julian asks.
“Yes,” Geralt assures him. “No one will be able to tell.”
“Then you may continue,” Julian whispers, and lets Geralt peel the blanket away.
He’s bare beneath it - soaked smallclothes kicked off, his shirt tossed aside - and his pale skin is tinted pink, a blush creeping down his chest. He’s hairier than one would expect at the first glance, but Geralt already knows that after living in close quarters with him for weeks now. Geralt follows the trail of hair down, down, down to the thatch of hair covering his mound, where the scent of his heat is the strongest. His cunt is flushed with blood and shiny with slick, and Geralt feels a hunger like never before.
Geralt has never been intimate with an omega. He has been celibate his whole life - except for that one night before their castration, when he and Eskel, a boy that trained to be a Guardian with him, decided to make the most of their equipment while it still worked.
He can’t really believe he’s going to do this, but he also knows there’s no way he can stop himself now. His ward needs pleasure, needs relief, and Geralt will give it to him.
Geralt settles between Julian’s legs, and the omega lets his thighs fall open for him.
Here, hidden between pink folds, lies the greatest treasure of them all, one Geralt has been tasked with protecting with his life. No one is supposed to get this close, not until Julian is married and mated.
Geralt leans forward and slowly licks a broad stripe over Julian’s cunt. The taste of his slick, salty-sweet, explodes on Geralt’s tongue.
“G - Geralt,” Julian gasps.
Geralt traces the seam of his cunt with his thumbs, and then uses them to hold Julian open. Julian is scorching hot and wet under him. Geralt licks him again.
Julian throws his head back and moans. It’s the sweetest sound Geralt has ever heard, for it lets him know he’s doing this right. He’s serving Julian well. He’s bringing his omega pleasure.
Geralt puts himself into his task with vigour, licking between Julian’s wet folds like he’s a man starved and Julian’s pussy is the finest meal in the land. It is - Geralt has never tasted anything better than his ward’s slick, and he briefly wonders if it would be like this with the other ones, too.
And when Julian’s whining and writhing on the bed, Geralt moves just a little higher, and he closes his lips around the prince’s flushed, swollen clit. Geralt flutters his tongue against it.
Julian mewls. One of his hands shoots out, and tangles in Geralt’s hair, holding him right where Julian wants him. Geralt finds he doesn’t mind having his face pressed into Julian’s cunt with the insistent tug at his scalp - it’s almost like a physical manifestation of the bond.
Geralt sucks at the clit in his mouth, and Julian’s whole body jerks under him, and with a keen, he comes.
He holds Geralt close as he rides it out, grinding against his face until he’s had enough. Then, he gently pushes Geralt away and seemingly melts into his mattress as he attempts to catch his breath.
“Fuck, Geralt, that was…” Julian rasps. His eyes flick back to Geralt. “Is there anything I can - ?”
He wants to return the favour, Geralt realizes. He shakes his head. “I don’t work that way anymore,” he says. “They made sure of that when they made me a Guardian.”
“What did they do?” Julian asks, voice soft. He’s curious, but Geralt can tell he won’t push. He never does.
“They castrated me,” Geralt tells him. “Took my testicles and then pumped me full of chemicals to make sure I was no threat to my ward’s virtue.”
Julian bites his lip. “Can I - can I see? I’ve never seen an alpha’s cock before.”
Geralt sees no reason not to sate Julian’s curiosity. It’s only fair, now that Geralt has seen and tasted his cunt. He unlaces his leathers and shoves them down his thighs, along with his smallclothes.
Julian leans close to his crotch, almost child-like in his curiosity. He looks, and when he’s looked enough, he touches - takes Geralt’s flaccid prick in his hand and examines it. He massages the knotting tissue at the base, and after a bit of hesitation, he licks the head.
It’s nice, for Geralt. Nice but strange, having someone touch a place he himself doesn’t touch very often. It’s nice, but nothing more - Geralt thinks it’s nice because it’s his ward touching him, not because of where he’s being touched.
“It’s so soft,” Julian says, “and squishy.”
“I don’t think you can expect that from your husband,” Geralt remarks. “Can’t really get you pregnant with a soft cock, Julian.”
“You’re in my bed, during my heat,” Julian points out, “I think you should really call me Jaskier.”
There really is no need to fight him on this - Geralt has already gotten closer than he was supposed to. “As you wish, Jaskier.”
Jaskier smiles, and captures his lips in a kiss. It starts slow, but it soon turns heated, and when Jaskier pulls away, he’s flushed again. Another wave of heat.
Geralt doesn’t hesitate for even a heartbeat before he moves down Jaskier’s body and settles between his thighs, putting his mouth back where Jaskier needs it.
---
They spend Jaskier’s first heat like that, with Geralt taking care of Jaskier’s every need - he hand feeds him fruits and meats and bread, and he helps him drink enough water so that he doesn’t get dehydrated, and he eats Jaskier out until he’s crying.
He thought he’d have a freak out over it all, but he actually finds it all surprisingly natural. After all, he’s only serving his ward. It’s not like he’s actually going against his orders - he didn’t take Jaskier’s virginity, kept him virtuous for his future alpha.
The day after Jaskier’s heat is quiet and filled with tension, Geralt unsure where he stands with his charge now that things are back to normal - but that only lasts til the evening, when Jaskier once again invites Geralt into his bed.
It becomes a habit, then.
They keep up appearances in public, but once they’re alone, they’re on each other. They’re both insatiable: Jaskier is always hungry for more pleasure, and Geralt is constantly craving to pleasure him. Most often, Geralt eats Jaskier out - he pins the prince’s thighs open and works him with his tongue until he’s shaking, or lets him sit on his face and take his pleasure how he wants - but sometimes he just uses his fingers while Jaskier gasps and moans into his mouth.
A few times, Jaskier even convinces Geralt to let him suck his cock. It’s mostly for Jaskier’s benefit - it’s not particularly pleasurable for Geralt, though he does like how intimate it feels, to have his soft length encased in the comfortable warmth of Jaskier’s mouth.
---
Since Jaskier has reached maturity, he needs to partake in society - to represent the kingdom, but mainly to find a suitable husband.
Geralt doesn’t particularly enjoy the balls he has to accompany Jaskier to - after all his years of Guarding, he’s still having a hard time getting used to the pomposity of these events. Accompanying the Prince of Kerack means that Geralt has to wear uncomfortable, pretentious clothes, and listen to many uncomfortable, pretentious conversations. He doesn’t like the people on these kinds of occasions - other omegas are subdued but obviously jealous, the betas are arrogant and the alphas are entitled. Everything feels like a threat, and Geralt would rather spend the evening hidden in Jaskier’s chambers, making his ward come on his tongue over and over.
Jaskier also isn’t particularly excited to go - he always says that he doesn’t understand why he’s supposed to entertain possible suitors, when he has no say in who he’s going to marry; when his alpha won’t be marrying his personality, but he’ll be marrying the royal blood that flows through Jaskier’s veins, that he’ll pass onto his pups.
But you’d never guess that, looking at him. He shines like the brightest jewel, quiet in his beauty until someone talks to him, at which point he makes polite conversation while making the person he’s talking to feel like the most important person in the room.
Like the alpha he’s currently talking to. Valdo Marx, the son of a Cidarian Marquis, dressed in a fine green coat that matches his eyes, is telling Jaskier all about his home country, and Jaskier seems more than content to listen to him prattle on about the climate and the agriculture.
Geralt makes a point not to feel jealous.
The musicians transition from a soft tune appropriate for conversations to a more energetic song suitable for dancing.
Valdo perks up at that. Grinning from ear to ear, he asks, “May I have this dance, Your Royal Highness?”
Jaskier’s eyes flick up to Geralt, asking for permission.
Geralt knows that talking with these people bores him, but that he’s always happy to dance. And Geralt wants to make him happy. He gives him a nod.
Jaskier beams. “You may,” he tells Valdo.
Valdo takes Jaskier’s hand in his and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s knuckles. Then, he leads him out onto the dancefloor.
Jaskier is barely able to contain his excitement as they start to dance - he has to hide his delighted giggle behind his hand to retain the air of a quiet, respectable noble omega.
Jaskier and Valdo move in time with the sea of bodies of the other dancers, every beat a crest of the wave. They twirl together and tangle with other couples. The song picks up speed, and suddenly the rhythm seems too fast to follow and Geralt has lost them.
When the song ends, the dancers move away from the dancefloor, but Jaskier and Valdo do not resurface.
Geralt feels panic rise in him. Jaskier is alone somewhere with an alpha. Geralt has to find him before it’s too late.
He takes a deep breath - he needs to keep a level head else he makes a stupid mistake that will cost Jaskier everything.
They didn’t go through one of the doors leading deeper into the castle, people would notice that, so they must have gone through the open balcony doors to the garden. Geralt follows.
It’s much quieter outside. The evening air is crisp, and Geralt can smell a faint trace of Jaskier’s perfume on the breeze - he’s on the right track.
Geralt walks deeper into the garden, following Jaskier’s scent. He’s analyzing every whisper and every rustle. Two times, he surprises married couples sneaking away for a bit of fun, until finally, he hears it -
“Valdo, stop - “
- Jaskier’s voice.
Geralt takes off in the direction it came from.
“Quiet, you dumb little omega,” Valdo hisses, “you’ll be happy with me. You’ll like Cidaris - “
“ - I beg you, Sir, don’t - I’ll scream - “
Geralt discovers them just as Valdo presses a hand to Jaskier’s mouth, muffling him. He’s got his other hand fighting with the laces of Jaskier’s fine silk breeches. Geralt growls at the sight.
Geralt takes a hold of Valdo by his doublet, tears him off Jaskier and throws him on the ground away from his ward. Once he’s down, he gives him a kick to the stomach for good measure, even though he’s supposed to handle noble alphas with a bit more care than peasants. Valdo is left gasping on the ground.
Geralt kneels next to Jaskier and quickly checks him over for any injuries. He seems fine, except for the red marks on his forearms where Valdo gripped him - they might turn into bruises overnight. There are tears in his eyes, but he’s obviously relieved to see Geralt.
“My lord, are you hurt?” Geralt asks.
“N- no,” Jaskier mumbles. “I’m still chaste.”
“But are you hurt?”
“I’m still chaste,” Jaskier repeats.
He must be pretty shaken. “I didn’t ask about that,” Geralt says softly. “I want to know if you got hurt.”
“I - no, not really,” Jaskier tells him. “I’m okay.”
“Good.” Geralt reaches for him, but stops short of touching him. “May I - “
“Yes,” Jaskier breathes, and falls into Geralt’s chest.
Geralt wraps his hands around him and holds him tight. Behind them, he hears Valdo fucking Marx catch his breath, scramble up to his feet and leave with haste. Geralt would love to hunt him down and break every single bone in his body, no matter who would want his head after that, but being here for his ward is more important.
Nothing in the world is more important than holding Jaskier close to his chest as his rabbit-quick heartbeat and shallow breaths return back to normal.
“You saved me,” Jaskier whispers. “Thank you, Geralt.”
“There’s no need to thank me,” Geralt mumbles, pressing a kiss to the crown of Jaskier’s head. He was just doing his job - and badly at that. If he had done what he was supposed to do, Jaskier would never have left the ballroom, not without his Guardian.
---
Geralt knows he has to report the incident to the king. Once Jaskier collects himself, Geralt brings him straight to his father - where they find out that Valdo Marx beat them there.
The young lord has already told the king all about how Jaskier led him on and suggested they slip away into the gardens for a bit of privacy, and how his Guardian brutally attacked him when he tried to take what he was freely offered.
“Freely offered?” Jaskier barks, “you damn near tore my arm off with how you manhandled me out of the ballroom! And then - then I told you - no, I begged you to stop - “
“Julian has the bruises to prove it,” Geralt offers.
The king sighs. He dismisses Valdo, promising him compensation for the unfair abuse he had suffered at Geralt’s hands.
Then, he turns to Jaskier.
---
Jaskier is positively fuming by the time he barges into his rooms, and Geralt readies himself for his rant. He’s not surprised - if he were in Jaskier’s place, he’d be displeased with the king’s proposal as well.
Jaskier holds back just long enough for Geralt to close and lock the door behind them.
“A chastity belt?” he screams. “That’s so - so barbaric! I thought we’d moved past that, as a modern society!”
Jaskier paces. His face is red with rage, his fists clenched hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. Geralt watches him, leaning back against the door, unmoving. He doesn’t want to get in Jaskier’s way. Let him rage - the poor boy needs it.
“I’ve always known my private business will always be everybody else’s business,” Jaskier says. “My body isn’t my body, it’s politics. It’s the property of my father and later my husband, and they’re free to do as they wish with it. The entire kingdom has more say in what happens to me than me. I’ve made my peace with that - somewhat. But I refuse to wear a physical proof of it!”
Under the mask of anger, there’s a different emotion, hidden well but not well enough to fool Geralt. He’s perfectly attuned to his ward, hyper focused on him - he sees the red wetness of Jaskier’s beautiful eyes, he sees the tremor in his hands, hears the crack in his voice. Geralt knows that Jaskier is only trying to hide his despair.
Despair isn’t productive. Anger rarely is, but at least it looks brave.
Jaskier doesn’t want to show how hopeless he feels in the face of everything. He was almost ruined tonight, and then he’s been told he could get a chastity belt on top of already having a Guardian dogging his footsteps.
“I agree with you,” Geralt says softly. “Your father wouldn’t be right to punish you this way.”
Jaskier turns to him. His eyes are cold and hard and sharp, like the best sword. If looks could kill, Geralt would be dead on the spot. “And why do you think that?” he barks. “Because you want to have access to my cunt anytime you wish it? Because you have a right to it too?”
Geralt keeps his calm in the face of Jaskier’s anger. “No,” he tells him. “It’s wrong because it wasn’t your fault, so it makes no sense to punish you.”
That cuts through Jaskier’s rage. His features soften as he blinks at Geralt in surprise. He lets out a mirthless laugh. “You’re probably the only alpha to think that way,” he says. He puts on an affected voice: “It’s my fault for smelling so alluring, my fault for looking so delectable, my fault for not being mated and knocked up already, my fault for simply existing in the same space as an alpha - “
“I share your space all the time,” Geralt offers, “and I can control myself around you just fine.”
“Is that so?” Jaskier challenges.
“I would never touch you without your explicit permission.” Never has. He’s already fucking up as a Guardian by even thinking about his ward in this way, let alone actually touching him, but he would never harm him - not physically, not mentally, and he would never harm his social standing, his prospects, the very things he’s protecting by Guarding Jaskier’s virginity.
Jaskier smirks. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes. Geralt can smell his arousal.
The prince marches up to Geralt, grabs a handful of his hair and tugs him down into a biting kiss. “That’s fucking right,” Jaskier growls. “You can’t touch me unless I tell you to.”
This isn’t stating facts - this is an order. Geralt will follow it, of course - anything to make his ward feel safe and secure in his own skin.
“Get on the bed,” Jaskier says, and steps aside to let Geralt go.
As Geralt lies on his back - the position he takes most often when they fuck - Jaskier strips. He leaves his fancy clothes crumpled on the floor and approaches the bed, stark naked.
“You can’t touch me,” he reminds Geralt again as he climbs up his body until he’s kneeling above Geralt’s face. His cunt is just a few inches away from Geralt’s mouth. It would be so easy for Geralt to lean forward and lick between his folds, suck on his clit, taste him on his tongue - but he can’t touch him. “Look at me, but don’t even think about touching me.”
“I won’t,” Geralt assures him.
Jaskier nods to himself. Then he licks his fingers. He reaches down between his legs. A gasp leaves him at the first touch to his pussy.
He starts slowly rubbing his clit.
“You can’t touch me,” Jaskier says. It’s not really directed at Geralt anymore - it’s more like he’s reassuring himself.
Geralt lies perfectly still between Jaskier’s thighs, watching the prince touch himself.
His movements are slow at first, soft gasps leaving his mouth as he plays with his clit. Geralt can smell the slick his body is producing in response to his teasing - with how close he is to the source, the scent is strong, the salty-sweetness of it coating Geralt’s tongue, filling his head. If Geralt were raised as a regular alpha, it would make him go wild, but Guardians are taught restraint.
“You won’t touch me,” Jaskier breathes. “Because I told you not to.”
“That’s right,” Geralt murmurs. He’d do anything Jaskier asks of him - far beyond his responsibilities as a Guardian, if it was even possible. He’s a loyal hound, collared and leashed, and Jaskier holds the leash in his hands, perhaps not entirely aware of the weight of it.
Geralt watches as Jaskier’s fingers dip between his folds, collecting his slick to make his touches smoother.
Jaskier’s hand speeds up, circling and rubbing his clit. Geralt swallows, hard - Jaskier’s cunt is flushed pink and slick, smelling so good, and there's only one thing Geralt wants more than to close his lips around the little nub Jaskier is focusing on and suck - and that thing is to obey and do whatever Jaskier says.
“This is my body,” Jaskier gasps, “and I own it. No one has any right to it except for me.”
Jaskier firms up his fingers and reaches lower. As the pads of his fingers brush against his tight opening, Geralt’s world halts to a stop.
He’s torn between allowing Jaskier this illusion of bodily autonomy, obeying the orders given to him, and protecting Jaskier from everything, even from himself, because if Jaskier is not entirely virginal on his wedding night, his life will be ruined.
Before he can make his decision, Jaskier seems to change his mind, bringing his hand back up to his swollen clit, and Geralt can breathe freely again.
Jaskier’s movements start to take on a frantic edge.
“This body is yours,” Geralt says, and Jaskier whines. “No one can touch it unless you say so.”
“F-fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier bites out. “I love you,” he breathes, and his thighs clench around Geralt’s shoulders as he comes.
He works himself through it, chest heaving, hand moving quickly between his legs, thighs quaking - and once it’s over, he tips to the side and falls down, like a puppet with its strings cut, to lie on the bed next to Geralt.
While the prince catches his breath, Geralt is still reeling from his confession.
Sure, it was something said in a moment of passion - but aren’t these things often the most honest? And it’s not impossible, really - they’ve been fucking for quite a while, their intimacy bringing them closer, and Geralt has come to understand that he’s the person that has showed Jaskier more kindness than any other.
He’s the only person who only has Jaskier’s best interest in mind, the only player entirely on his side in the games of courtly intrigue.
And Geralt, despite knowing better, loves Jaskier too. He’s sworn to him, he’s practically bonded to him - but what Geralt feels goes far beyond the classic Guarding bond he had with his other charges. It’s something new, and frankly terrifying.
“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbles, staring at the ceiling. “I shouldn’t have said that. I- I don’t want to burden you with my… undesirable feelings.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt says softly.
“I know,” Jaskier retorts. “I know you Guardians don’t feel that way about your charges, I know you’re just doing your job, but I can’t help it - “
“I do,” Geralt says. “I do feel that way about you, Jaskier.”
Jaskier turns to face him, his eyes wide with surprise and disbelief. “And it’s not because of the bond? Because of that potion you took when we first met?”
Geralt shakes his head. “I’ve taken the potion plenty of times, but I’ve never felt like this before.”
“Say it, then,” Jaskier challenges.
“I love you,” Geralt confesses, “my lord.”
Jaskier smiles. Tears shine in his eyes, but he hides them as he presses his face into Geralt’s chest, huddling close to his Guardian.
Geralt is left to wonder what this means for them.
---
Jaskier doesn’t get the chastity belt, luckily. He’s forbidden from dancing, though, and that’s almost as bad. Jaskier spends a day crying about it, and Geralt holds him the whole time. Once Jaskier has calmed down, Geralt persuades him to teach him how to dance. After that, they dance often when they’re alone in Jaskier’s chambers.
There are more balls, and visits, and tournaments, alpha after alpha vying for Jaskier’s hand - and Geralt stands by Jaskier’s side throughout them all, keeping him safe. He listens to Jaskier complain about his suitors, and when Jaskier wants - and Jaskier wants often - he makes him forget all about them when he eats Jaskier out until the prince is sobbing.
Life is good - they laugh at pompous lords together and kiss and fuck and cuddle and keep exchanging “I love you”s.
Every good thing must come to an end, though.
Jaskier’s father finally chooses a suitable alpha for his son - Radovid, the king of Redania.
Geralt accompanies Jaskier through the wedding preparations, silently counting down days until their bond is severed and they both go their separate ways - Jaskier will be taken far, far away to live with his husband in Redania, and Geralt will take his new assignation and get bonded to yet another noble omega.
Geralt is dreading it, and he thinks Jaskier is too, but they don’t talk about it.
---
When he took this job, Geralt never would have expected that only his sixth assignation would become his last. It happens like this:
It’s the day of Jaskier’s wedding to Radovid. Geralt watches the omega get dressed in a white dress with a low neckline, to show off his unmarked throat, and pampered with face paints so that his cheeks and lips appear pinker and his eyes bigger and bluer.
Jaskier is utterly beautiful, and it makes Geralt’s heart hurt.
He follows behind Jaskier as his father leads him down the aisle. Halfway to the altar, they stop. Jaskier turns to Geralt, and Geralt kneels before him, as is custom.
He aches, kneeling for Jaskier one last time.
“My Guardian,” Jaskier says, his voice perfectly even, “today is the day I am to release you from my service. You've served me well, and you've proven your loyalty, ability and bravery many times over the time we've spent together. I'll be forever in your debt…”
Geralt braces himself. He reaches for the potion at his belt, ready to gulp it down the second Jaskier says he’s free of his service. Maybe it will numb the pain for a while.
“...and yet, I'd like to make you an offer,” Jaskier continues, surprising everyone present but most of all Geralt. “You've Guarded me with ferocity and dedication and never let me come to any harm, and so I wish to make you my personal guard, to protect me in my new home like you've protected me in this one. Do you accept? Will you leave with me?"
This… this is not done. Every Guarding bond is broken when the omega gets bonded to their alpha - but Jaskier is the fucking prince, so maybe he can break custom.
Geralt should say no. He has already gotten too attached - he loves Jaskier, and he doubts that love will just go away once he takes the concoction to break the bond. He can’t imagine getting bonded to someone else - Jaskier is his omega, and it doesn’t matter that he’ll never wear the mark to prove it.
Geralt cannot say no.
“Of course, my lord,” he rasps, throat tight with emotion, “It would be an honour to continue to serve you.”
Jaskier beams. Tears gather in his eyes, but he discreetly wipes them away. “Thank you,” he whispers.
Then, without a glance back, he continues towards the altar, his shoulders set in a proud line. He says his part of the vows and lets Radovid bite him. It must hurt, judging by Jaskier’s expression, and combined with the sight of Jaskier’s blood on Radovid’s lips, it makes Geralt’s insides twist unpleasantly.
This will, no doubt, be a very difficult arrangement. But for Jaskier, Geralt will manage.
---
After the ceremony, there’s a feast.
Jaskier sits next to his husband, quiet unless spoken to. He lets Radovid feed him sweet morsels by hand, lets his alpha kiss him and grope at him. Geralt hovers, uncertain, over his shoulder. Servants offer him food and drink, but Geralt refuses, knowing everything would taste like ash.
In the evening, Radovid and Jaskier retreat to their wedding bed. Geralt follows them along with Radovid’s personal guards, mentally preparing himself to spend the night outside the room where Jaskier will lose his virginity.
“Goodnight, Geralt,” Jaskier whispers at the door.
Geralt can see he’s nervous, but trying very hard not to show it. “Goodnight, my lord,” Geralt says. “You’ll be fine.”
A soft smile flickers on Jaskier’s face.
“Your loyal hound stays, Julian,” Radovid orders suddenly.
Jaskier’s face falls. He obviously doesn’t like the idea. Geralt doesn’t either. “What?” Jaskier squeaks.
“I want him to see me reap the fruits of his labour,” Radovid says. “As a thanks for a job well done.” There’s an amused curl to his lips, but his eyes are hard. Jaskier breaking custom must have greatly displeased him, and now he’s looking to punish that misstep.
“That isn’t necessary, Your Majesty,” Geralt says, trying his best to keep his tone polite and neutral. “I’ll protect my ward outside just as well as if I were inside.”
“I am now your king, dog,” Radovid reminds him coldly. “And you never say no to your king.”
“But - “
“Geralt,” Jaskier says softly, “do as my husband says. Please.”
Geralt takes a deep breath. “Yes, my lord.”
Radovid smirks. “Stand by the bed, dog.”
Geralt does as he’s told. Jaskier said he has to.
Radovid pulls Jaskier into a kiss. He’s demanding, biting Jaskier’s sweet plump lips, while his hands blindly fight with Jaskier’s wedding gown. The alpha manages to untie the knot on the laces at the back, and Geralt swears the fabric rips in places as he tugs the dress down Jaskier’s shoulders.
The dress slips down Jaskier’s arms and pools around his ankles, leaving him standing only in his flimsy smallclothes. Radovid swiftly unties the laces holding them up, and then Jaskier is bare.
Radovid gives Jaskier a thorough once-over. “My my, what a lovely mate I have,” he muses.
“I’m glad you find me agreeable, Your Majesty,” Jaskier murmurs. “May I undress you?”
“You may.”
Jaskier’s hands are light and don’t linger as they work to get Radovid out of his clothes, working with purpose more than anything. There isn’t much passion in Jaskier’s touch as he unlaces his husband’s doublet, helps him out of his chemise, takes off his shoes, works open the fastenings of his breeches, but there’s a certain silent determination. He sets each item of clothing carefully aside.
Radovid’s smallclothes go last. Jaskier unlaces them and frees his already hard cock.
Jaskier gulps audibly at the sight.
Geralt isn’t surprised - Radovid is rather sizeable, and the only dick Jaskier has seen so far was always perfectly soft and harmless. This one is hard and flushed with blood, and it looks almost angry.
“Do you like what you see, little omega?” Radovid asks. “I bet you’re gagging for it - you’ve gone so long without a cock to fill you…”
Jaskier hesitantly wraps a hand around it, to feel how firm it is. “It’s… big.”
Radovid gives Geralt a smug look over Jaskier’s shoulder.
Unfortunately for him, Geralt doesn’t care about the size of his own cock - it has been made soft and useless so that Geralt can fulfil his purpose, and his purpose is to keep omegas from harm. He’d never be able to meet Jaskier and fall in love with him if he had a working prick.
“Lay on the bed, Julian,” Radovid orders.
Jaskier moves to follow. “On my front, or on my back?”
“On your back,” Radovid decides. “We want Geralt to have a good view, don’t we?”
As Jaskier settles on the bed, his eyes quickly flick up to look at Geralt’s face, something like an apology in those lovely pools of blue. “Yes,” he agrees.
Geralt doesn’t understand which one of them Radovid is looking to punish with this - maybe both of them. Maybe Jaskier insulted him when he insinuated he doesn’t trust his husband with his safety. Maybe he can see on Geralt’s face just how much he loves Jaskier, and wants to make sure Geralt knows his place in this marriage. Or maybe he’s just an asshole alpha like so many others.
Radovid climbs on the bed after Jaskier. He forces his way between Jaskier’s legs, and the omega’s pale thighs fall open to accommodate his bulk.
“I can finally take a good look at you,” Radovid purrs. “Make sure everything is as it should be.”
Jaskier lets out a startled gasp as Radovid reaches between his legs and spreads his lips open to examine his cunt, checking his hymen.
“Your Guardian did a good job,” Radovid mutters, his fingers moving to rub Jaskier’s clit, “kept you chaste for me. Thank him, Julian.”
Jaskier takes a deep breath. “Thank you, Geralt,” he groans, “for keeping me chaste for my husband.”
“Good omega.” Radovid spits in his palm and spreads it over his cock. He lines himself up, and a tremor goes through Jaskier when Radovid’s cock brushes against his entrance.
Geralt doesn’t know much about having sex with omegas, but he’s almost certain Jaskier isn’t nearly wet enough to be penetrated. He feels a growl rise in his chest. “Your Majesty - “
“Julian,” Radovid hisses, “tell your guard dog to keep his maw shut.”
Jaskier winces. He swallows, hard. “Geralt, be quiet, please.”
Geralt’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click. He won’t disobey Jaskier’s order.
“Good dog,” Radovid snorts. “Now, where were we…”
He presses forward into Jaskier’s cunt. Jaskier gasps and tenses. Radovid keeps pushing, forcing his thick cock past the initial resistance, and Jaskier lets out a pained whimper.
“A - alpha, you’re hurting me - “
“Quiet,” Radovid snaps.
Geralt has to lock his muscles in place or he’d tear out Radovid’s throat with his fucking teeth.
Jaskier sobs brokenly, and suddenly the resistance is gone and Radovid’s cock sinks deeper inch by inch. A tear runs down Jaskier’s cheek, and then another. He whines when Radovid is finally fully sheathed in him.
“It - it hurts, alpha,” Jaskier whimpers, “it hurts really b - bad.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Radovid says.
Geralt feels like shit. Jaskier is in pain and Geralt is right there but unable to help, unable to do anything. Radovid is Jaskier’s alpha, and a king to boot, so that means he can do whatever the fuck he wants and no one can stop him. And Geralt is supposed to protect Jaskier, but he can’t - he has no authority in their marital bed. He can growl at anyone else, maim anyone who dares to touch Jaskier - except for his alpha.
He doesn’t give a fuck about whatever power-play Radovid is attempting here. He’s not jealous. He’s distraught by Jaskier’s pain and his tears, and the inability to make them go away is frustrating. And yes, watching Jaskier lose his virginity even though Geralt was sworn to protect it makes him feel like a failure, due to his training - this is why Guardians are supposed to be released from their service, because they’re built for one thing only. But he’s decidedly not jealous that it’s not him who is deflowering Jaskier - he never even thought he could, he doesn’t work like that.
“Mm, you’re so deliciously tight,” Radovid muses.
Jaskier can only sob in response.
Radovid pulls back. There’s blood on his cock when he does, Jaskier’s blood.
The metallic smell of it assaults Geralt's nose and makes him want to fight. He grits his teeth. Jaskier is bleeding, crying, hurting - and Geralt can do fuck all, because the person hurting him is the one who has the right to do whatever he wants with Jaskier’s body.
Radovid sets a pace.
Jaskier isn’t quiet as he’s fucked- he was always loud when Geralt ate him out, but this is different. He’s obviously trying to keep his noises down, but it’s not really working. He’s whining and sobbing, making pained little sounds that break Geralt’s heart every time Radovid thrusts in.
Gods, Geralt just wants to hold him and tell him everything’s going to be okay.
“You’re taking my cock so well, omega,” Radovid growls. “You’ll give me such strong and beautiful pups, I just know it.”
“Y - yes,” Jaskier whimpers, voice skipping as Radovid gives a particularly deep thrust, “yes, I promise - “
“Good omega.”
Radovid grabs Jaskier’s hips tightly and starts slamming into him. Jaskier cries out in pain as the alpha’s swelling knot forces its way in and out of his poor abused cunt.
Radovid doesn’t care - he continues fucking Jaskier, snarling like a wild beast, until he comes with a roar. His knot inflates fully, locking him inside Jaskier as he fills him with his seed.
“Gods, the pain - “ Jaskier wails, “Melitele, preserve me - “ and then he breaks into heaving, hiccuping sobs.
“Hush, omega,” Radovid says, “the pain is necessary.” His words are callous, but his voice is soft. He reaches for Jaskier’s face and gently dries his tears. Now that the punishment has been carried out, the bond is urging Radovid to soothe his mate’s distress. “Next time won’t hurt as much, your body will get used to it.”
Geralt isn’t too sure it’s supposed to work like that.
“Al - alright,” Jaskier whispers, pressing into Radovid’s touch, craving some softness after the pain.
They wait for Radovid’s knot to go down in silence. Jaskier winces with every minute shift of Radovid’s cock inside him, and Radovid calms him by rubbing their scent glands together.
When Radovid finally pulls out, a rush of cum follows his cock, tinted pink with Jaskier’s blood.
“What a mess,” Radovid murmurs. “Your loyal hound will clean you up.”
Geralt saw a washbasin with water on one of the tables earlier, and he might find a rag as well -
“Use your mouth, dog.”
Jaskier’s breath hitches. Geralt does his best not to let his shock show on his face. Seems Jaskier’s punishment might be over, but Geralt’s isn’t.
Geralt meets Jaskier’s eyes. He would never touch him without his explicit permission, and he doesn’t care what the godsdamned king of Redania thinks about that.
Jaskier gives him the tiniest nod, but it’s enough for Geralt.
Geralt settles on the bed between Jaskier’s legs. His heart aches at the sight of Jaskier’s cunt flushed an angry red and all the blood leaking out of it. He’s also distraught by his torn hymen, but he knows he’ll get used to the sight, learn that it’s not a sign of his failure.
He goes slow, taking his time. He trails kisses down Jaskier’s mound and over his clit, until he reaches his entrance.
The first taste he gets is overwhelming. It’s a mix of Jaskier’s slick, familiar and salty sweet; Radovid’s seed, slightly bitter; and the metallic tang of Jaskier’s blood.
Geralt cleans Jaskier’s skin with slow, diligent kitten licks, Jaskier gasping with every swipe of his tongue. Then, he dips his tongue into Jaskier’s cunt, shallow at first, but when Jaskier groans in pleasure, Geralt pushes deeper. The taste of blood is stronger here, but Geralt is full of excitement - he never dared to sink his tongue into Jaskier when he was still a virgin, but now he can fuck Jaskier, in a way.
Geralt’s tongue is not much, compared to Radovid’s cock, so it doesn’t hurt - Jaskier’s breathing is quick and irregular, every now and then interrupted by a soft moan.
Geralt rests his hand on Jaskier’s mound and rubs his clit with his thumb in time with the movements of his tongue. It doesn’t take long before Jaskier’s moans reach a crescendo and he comes, writhing on the bed.
“Good dog,” Radovid says. He’s standing by the washbasin, already wiped clean, a smirk on his lips.
Geralt hopes that means his debt is paid.
Jaskier and Radovid continue to prepare themselves for bed. Jaskier wipes himself down too, to get rid of the worst of the sweat and other fluids. They both dress in their nightclothes. A maid comes and changes the sheets, taking the one painted with Jaskier’s virgin blood to be hung from the ramparts for the whole Redania to see.
Geralt is dismissed before they go to sleep. He spends the whole night outside the chambers, thinking about Jaskier sleeping in the arms of his new husband.
---
Geralt and Jaskier find a new normal.
Geralt stays by Jaskier’s side, whether he’s dealing with the few royal duties he has or if he’s just relaxing in the gardens, playing silly little songs just for him and his loyal Guardian. The only exception are the nights - those Jaskier spends with his husband. Radovid no longer wants Geralt present, now that he’s shown him his place, and so Geralt gets a good night’s sleep in the guards’ quarters.
Radovid is making good use of his omega. More often than not, when Geralt goes to eat Jaskier out, he can still smell his seed on Jaskier’s skin. He starts getting used to it - it’s not really a thing that concerns him, since Jaskier doesn’t bleed or cry anymore and still demands Geralt’s tongue whenever he can have it.
The first month passes slowly. And then Jaskier’s heat hits.
Geralt isn’t allowed to see Jaskier for nearly a week, so he does the next best thing - sits in front of the royal chambers and listens to him moan as Radovid fucks him and knots him over and over again. And brings them food.
The day Jaskier can finally leave Radovid’s bed, he immediately falls into Geralt’s. He begs Geralt to make him feel his, and Geralt does his best - he fingerfucks him until he can’t properly speak and eats him out until he can’t taste Radovid’s seed anymore. And then he holds him for a long, long time, Jaskier’s slighter frame pressed close to his chest.
They’re allowed to be in love, somewhat - Radovid isn’t the happiest about it, but as long as Geralt knows his place, he lets them sneak around without repercussions. Gods know he has lovers aplenty, and honestly, he should feel lucky that Jaskier is fucking the only alpha in the castle that can’t get him pregnant.
Geralt and Jaskier find a new normal, and it’s good. Definitely better than Geralt would have thought before the wedding.
---
It’s a few weeks after Jaskier’s heat.
Jaskier has been nervous all day - since his morning visit to the royal doctor. Afterwards, he decided to hide away in the music room, and here they are. Jaskier is currently fiddling with the pegs of his lute, not really tuning it, just needing something to do with his hands, while Geralt just sits at his feet and listens.
“Have you… noticed anything strange about me lately?” Jaskier suddenly asks.
Geralt tries to think about it. Jaskier has been a little quieter, often feeling tired. Sometimes in the mornings, he’s nauseous. And Radovid’s musky alpha scent seems to have completely mixed with his own. He’s not entirely sure what it’s all supposed to mean when put together, however.
“Is anything wrong?” Best to cut to the chase.
Jaskier snorts. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says. “Or, at least, I hope it’s all good.”
That calms Geralt somewhat. He had worried Jaskier was about to tell him he had some disease, maybe...
He takes a breath and meets Geralt’s eyes. “I’m pregnant, Geralt.”
Geralt’s breath catches in his throat. His gaze flicks down to Jaskier’s belly, still mostly flat, as if he could see the child growing there. “That’s good news, isn’t it?” Geralt says. “Giving Radovid a pup, proving yourself as his mate…”
“Yes, I suppose.” Jaskier says. He bites his lip, hesitant. “I - I don’t really want it to be Radovid’s, though.”
“Jaskier, what do you mean?”
Jaskier blushes, lovely pink colouring his cheeks. “It’s stupid,” he mumbles.
Geralt nuzzles his face against Jaskier’s knee. “Let me hear it anyway?”
“I want to carry the child of the man I love, not the man I was forced to marry,” Jaskier says. “I don’t want the pup to be Radovid’s, I’d rather it be yours.”
Geralt doesn’t know what his face does when Jaskier says that. “Jaskier…”
“I know,” Jaskier interrupts him. “I know that it’s impossible. Doesn’t stop me from wanting it, though. I want it so much.”
Geralt never really regretted his castration - it was just one of the things that made him able to be a Guardian - until now. He knows he would never have met Jaskier if he still had his testicles, but gods, he’d give anything to have them back right now - anything to fulfill Jaskier’s wish and give him the child he wants.
“Please, can we - “ Jaskier asks, “can we pretend, Geralt?
Geralt can never tell Jaskier no. “Of course, my love.”
He lets Jaskier pull him up to sit on the sofa with him, and then pull him into a feverish kiss.
“Gods, I love you so much,” Jaskier sighs against his lips. “I want to have your pups.”
“I love you too,” Geralt tells him. “You’ll make an amazing mother,” he says. “I - I want you to have my pups.” Geralt has never thought about children, knowing what he’ll grow up to be. But he knows he’d want them with Jaskier, if he were able. He’d want to have a family with him.
He wants to have a family with Jaskier - he has no doubt he will love Jaskier’s pup, no matter who the father is. He will love them like they’re his own, because they are Jaskier’s. They might even be able to play at being a real family, for a while - for as long as the pup will mainly stick with their mother.
Still kissing, Jaskier tears at Geralt’s laces to get them undone. Then he stumbles over his own. He tugs his breeches down and kicks them off. He lays back on the sofa and pulls Geralt to tower above him. Their groins brush together and Geralt finds that Jaskier is already wonderfully wet.
“Fuck me,” Jaskier says.
It’s easier said than done, but they manage. Together, they gently push Geralt’s soft cock inside Jaskier’s cunt. It’s scorching hot and wet inside, and pleasantly tight. It’s strange, but Geralt thinks he could get used to it - he could get used to anything, for Jaskier.
“So full,” Jaskier murmurs. “Your cock feels so good, my love - my alpha.”
A thrill goes through Geralt at the words. Jaskier had never called Radovid that. “My omega,” he chokes out, and puts his mouth on Jaskier’s throat, sucking at his well-healed mating bite.
“Yesss,” Jaskier hisses, “I’m yours. And I’ll give you a pup to prove it.”
Geralt can’t really thrust into Jaskier like every other alpha would. Instead, they grind together, keeping their pace slow and unhurried. Geralt isn’t entirely sure if the soft penetration does something for Jaskier, but at least his clit rubs against Geralt’s abdomen with every movement.
It’s loving and intimate. Jaskier keeps softly babbling about how much he wants Geralt to breed him and knock him up, about their future pup, about how much he loves Geralt. Geralt echoes him, bad at words but okay at repeating.
It ends when Jaskier comes, moaning Geralt’s name. Geralt stays inside, because Jaskier wants to wait out the knot - wants to make sure it takes.
When Geralt pulls out, not even a drop of cum follows his cock. He winces.
“You sowed your seed so deep,” Jaskier praises him, voice soft and full of love, “made sure it won’t leak out. Such a good alpha.”
Geralt kisses him. He kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him, and revels in loving him.
---
It’s a peaceful pregnancy - or as peaceful as a first pregnancy can be. Whenever they’re able, Geralt and Jaskier play pretend, acting as if the child growing in Jaskier’s womb is truly Geralt’s.
It might not be entirely healthy, but Geralt doesn’t mind. They’re happy.
Jaskier gives birth to a lovely, healthy beta boy. Radovid is somewhat pleased that he got a child that can inherit the crown, but Geralt knows he’ll keep trying for an alpha heir until he gets one. He tries it Jaskier’s very next heat, but that one is fruitless - and Geralt is glad for that, Jaskier deserves more time to get used to being a mother and his body deserves rest.
When Geralt and Jaskier are alone with the child, Geralt helps Jaskier with everything from changing nappies to singing the child to sleep. Geralt adores the pup, and the pup likes him too - the boy gives him his first smile, and Geralt feels like the luckiest man in the world.
Geralt never would have expected that only his sixth assignation would become his last - but gods, is he glad it did.