#pregnant jaskier

[kayte-overmoon]

An excerpt from my Geraskier ABO Pregnancy AU

I'm still working on this fic (it's a big one) but I wanted to give you all SOMETHING, so here's a little (3.5k-word) excerpt to tide you over!

Rating: Mature (no explicit sexual content, but it's fairly suggestive)

Tags: fluff, mild angst, platonic affection, idiots in love, pregnant Jaskier, mpreg, ABO/Omegaverse, canon era

Jaskier is soaking in an Igni-heated bath barely big enough for him to fit in. He doesn’t seem to mind, kicking his feet up over the far edge as he rests his head on the other end. 

“As much as I hate you spending all our money on inns,” he’s saying, eyes closed as Geralt cleans his swords. “I do appreciate a good soak in a man-made basin every now and then.”

“I know you do,” Geralt says, half a smile on his face for a moment before it drops. There’s something on his mind, something that’s been bugging him since the moment he decided to keep Jaskier. 

“Now, now, witcher,” Jaskier tsks. “What’s the frown for this time?”

Geralt sets aside his swords and looks at his companion. Jaskier has twisted his torso to see Geralt better, arms crossed on the side of the basin and chin propped up on them, watching Geralt with wide, amused blue eyes. Geralt no longer bristles at the bard’s nudity—a good thing, because he tends toward heat spells these days, and often the only way to cool down is to strip to the skin. They’ve had a good couple of weeks of work, so his cheeks are full and pinked with the heat from the bath. He could use a shave, but other than that, he looks good.

Geralt looks down at his own hands. “We should talk. About our arrangement.”

“I wasn’t aware we had an arrangement.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, watching the omega smile out of the corner of his eye. “I mean our situation.” He looks up and meets Jaskier’s eye again. “You can’t keep traveling like this, Jask. We need to get you somewhere safe. Comfortable.”

“But I am safe,” Jaskier pouts. “I feel safer with you than I do anywhere else.”

“That’s the problem, little lark,” Geralt says, the endearment spilling from his lips like water. Every time he calls him that, Jaskier’s shoulders relax like Geralt’s taken a great weight off them. He makes it a point to do it as frequently as possible now. “I told you before, the Path is no place for a child. And all that aside, you’re going to keep getting sicker if we don’t let you rest.”

Jaskier waves him off, sinking back into his bath. “You worry too much.”

“No, you don’t worry enough!”

The omega flinches at his tone, glaring at him from the corner of his eye. 

Geralt sighs, looking at him apologetically. “I just mean you should take care, Jaskier. If you’re this ill barely a third of the way into your pregnancy, what do you expect to happen later on?”

“I’m not that ill.”

Geralt scoffs. “You turned down a minced pie today, Jaskier.”

He purses his lips, caught. “Fine. You’re getting rid of me, then?”

Geralt should take it for the opening it is. He knows how dangerous traveling with him is for Jaskier. How much worse will it get when he has a child at his breast? Geralt’s new worst nightmare had quickly become returning from a hunt to find Jaskier taken, hurt, beaten, ripped apart and sold for parts. And besides all that, it was becoming dangerous for Geralt. He’s never been so attached to someone—perhaps Eskel or Vesemir, but they know the dangers of their line of work and can fend for themselves. It’s hard to focus on monster hunting when half his mind is preoccupied with the omega waiting for him back at the inn. 

A distracted witcher is a dead witcher.

“No,” Geralt says, not even surprising himself.

There’s no question. He physically can’t bring himself to let Jaskier go. He’s tried considering it a time or two in the months they’ve been together, and each time, his stomach ties itself in knots.

The omega relaxes in the tub. “Good. Because as much as I love you, Geralt, there are some things even you can do to break my heart.”

His tone is light, teasing, and he doesn’t seem to realize the impact the words have on Geralt.

He’s still reeling from those words (I love you echoing in his mind) when Jaskier finally pulls himself from the bath, dripping wet, pruned, and smelling of chamomile. Perhaps the sight, perhaps the smell, perhaps those words muddle his mind enough for Geralt to blurt out, “Come to Kaer Morhen with me.”

Jaskier blinks up at him from the towel he’d been drying himself with, his hair tufted up on one side from where he’d rubbed it. “Kaer Morhen?”

“The homeplace of the witchers,” Geralt explains. “The wolf witchers, at least. It’s where I grew up. It’s where I—where we go every winter.”

“And you… want me to come with you?”

“Is that… is that alright? For me to ask?”

Jaskier chuckles and comes to where Geralt is sitting at the edge of the bed—there’s only one, since they’re on a strict budget, after all—and insinuates himself between Geralt’s knees. He doesn’t even seem to be aware of his nudity. Geralt decidedly is aware of it. “Dear witcher,” Jaskier says fondly. His hands land on either of Geralt’s shoulders and his scent, warm and happy, surrounds Geralt’s senses. “Never doubt how much your generosity means to me. It sounds lovely, but…”

“But?” Geralt gives into temptation, lets his hands settle in the dip of Jaskier’s hips, his wrists almost brushing the soft skin of his ever-growing belly. Some deep, base instinct makes him want to rub his scent glands over Jaskier’s bump, to claim him and the pup as Geralt’s. He digs his fingers into his bard’s hips to keep from doing that. He hasn’t been given permission. Jaskier has given no indication that he sees Geralt as anything more than a close friend, a platonic person who could protect him and his pup. The last thing Geralt wants is to breach his trust.

Jaskier purrs softly, not seeming to realize he’s doing it. He fiddles with Geralt’s hair. “I feel as if I’m taking advantage of you.”

Geralt snorts. “Trust me, if I didn’t want you here, I would have dumped you before we even left Posada.”

The bard tips his head and smiles and gods above Geralt just wants to pull him into his lap and press his face against his neck where his scent is strongest. Still grinning, Jaskier asks, “Why do you put up with me, witcher? You don’t seem the type to form attachments.”

“I’m not.”

“And yet… here we are.”

Geralt observes him carefully in the candlelight. “Here we are.” He drags his thumb absently across Jaskier’s ribs, watching goosebumps rise in his wake. Jaskier takes a breath at that, pulling himself away from Geralt to continue drying and dressing himself. Geralt mourns the loss of his touch but lets him go.

“So.” Jaskier twists open a jar of sweet-smelling oil he’d been rubbing on his belly of late. I may adore this child with every fiber of my being, Geralt, but that does not mean I wish to have the marks of pregnancy on my youthful form for the rest of eternity. “Kaer Morhen?”

“Mmm.” Geralt picks up his swords again, going about cleaning and sharpening them absently while he watches Jaskier go about his routine. “Vesemir will be there. He’s a healer, of sorts. He could help with the delivery. Or we could bring someone if you like. A midwife of your choosing.”

Jaskier hums back at him, a mannerism he’s beginning to pick up from Geralt without even realizing it. “Vesemir?”

“My… father, I suppose.” At the omega’s inquisitive look, he goes on. “Witchers are born human and come—came, rather—to the keep when they were young. Many were orphans. Some… weren’t.” Jaskier clearly catches on but graciously deigns not to dig in. “Vesemir was one of the teachers before the sacking of Kaer Morhen, when mages destroyed all knowledge of making new witchers and killed all but a handful of us. Vesemir is the oldest living witcher. He took it upon himself to care for the keep and the last few witchers.”

“You speak fondly of him,” Jaskier says. “Are you close?”

Geralt grunts, not in agreement or disagreement. “I suppose. As close as witchers let themselves get. We have a lot in common. All the witchers left do. No one quite understands the life of a witcher more than another witcher.”

“How many of you are there left?”

“Of my school, the wolf witchers”—he thumbs his medallion—“there’s only me, Vesemir, and my brothers Eskel and Lambert. There are several others left from other schools, but we’re not nearly as close.”

“So, this winter,” Jaskier says. “Would it just be us and Vesemir? Or will your brothers be there?”

“Hard to tell,” Geralt shrugs. “We usually don’t know who’s going to show up until they arrive at the keep. The past couple years, Lambert has brought a guest.”

Dark eyebrows rise as Jaskier slips into a clean change of smallclothes. “A guest? Then it won’t be strange if I come?”

Geralt snorts. “No, it will be strange. Lambert’s guest is a witcher from one of the other schools.” He meets Jaskier’s eye. “None of us have ever brought home a human. Not since it’s just been the four of us.”

“Let alone a pregnant omega?” Jaskier snorts. He flicks a wrist, playing at being scandalized. “Imagine what they’ll say, Geralt! They’ll accuse you of stealing my virtue!”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “As if you had any to begin with.”

Jaskier gasps, clutching his chest. “You wound me, darling. I’ll have you know I was the picture of innocence before—well, before this.” The hand at his chest smooths over his stomach as he looks down fondly.

Geralt hums in response, languishing in the omega’s happy scent as he strokes his baby bump. “They’ll know it’s not mine anyway.”

“How so?”

“Witchers are sterile,” Geralt says. He expects the shocked, saddened look Jaskier shoots his way, and waves him off. “I’m not sensitive about it. It’s part of the Trials to become a witcher, and they don’t hide the information from us beforehand. We go in knowing we will either die in the trials or come out the other side an alpha with no ability to breed.”

“Oh.” Jaskier wilts a little, his scent—usually a mix of honey and lilies—dips toward something like sandalwood. “I’m sorry, Geralt.”

“It’s not your fault, Jask.”

“No, I mean.” He throws his chemise over his head and scrambles up onto the bed with Geralt, laying his head on the witcher’s shoulder with no regard for the sword in his hands. Again, that blind trust that makes Geralt wonder what he did to deserve it. “Here I am, running around and making poor life decisions while carrying a pup, and you can’t…”

“Jask.” Geralt nuzzles his hair absently to get his attention. The omega tips his head up to look at him with watery blue eyes. Geralt sets the sword aside—again—and resolves to finish it in the morning. “I told you, I don’t care. Especially not when I get to see how happy you are every day.”

Jaskier squints, mushing his cheek against Geralt’s shoulder, looking every bit like a contented house cat. “I am happy. I feel as if I should be worried or anxious or afraid, but I’m not. I have many regrets in my life, but this is not one of them. I’m glad I have the pup. I’m glad I have my freedom. I’m glad I have you. You’re a dear friend, you know that, Geralt?”

Geralt grunts.

“You are!” Jaskier shoves his arm gently, not even enough to dislodge himself from Geralt’s shoulder. “Not many people would be willing to put up with me, with or without the child. And here you are, not just tolerating me, but taking care of me. Why is that?”

Geralt shrugs with his free shoulder.

“Oh, don’t get silent on me now, Geralt! We’re having a heart-to-heart!”

“Exactly.”

“Ugh!” Jaskier flings himself back on the bed, kneeing Geralt in the thigh as he squirms to get comfortable. Geralt pinches his leg in retaliation, making him giggle. “Fine. Don’t tell me, then. I’ll just assume you are susceptible to my charm and wit. You saw me in Posada and thought, ‘Yes. Now there’s a man I’d let rub chamomile on my lovely bo—‘”

“It was one time, Jask.”

“One very memorable time, on my part.” Jaskier grins, cheeky and lecherous. With a face like that, there’s no wonder he was knocked up before the age of twenty. 

Geralt makes himself end that line of thought the second it arrives. 

Instead of admiring his friend’s fuckability, he grunts. “It’s not too late for me to leave you along the road somewhere.”

“No!” Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt’s waist from behind, his head knocking against his hip. Geralt twists to accommodate him, letting the bard rest his head in his lap. “I’ll surely shrivel up and die the moment you leave me. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?”

“I think you overestimate how much you need me. You’d make it just fine on your own.”

The omega tips his head to level an unimpressed look up at him. “When we met, I was getting booed out of taverns and stuffing bread in my pants so I’d have something to eat later.”

Geralt just hums.

Jaskier pokes him in the side. “I’m happy with you, Geralt. It’s a peculiar arrangement, but I couldn’t ask for anything better.”

Geralt watches him for a moment, aware his face was probably too fond at the moment but too content with the omega’s closeness to care. “You pet your stomach when you’re tired, you know that?”

Jaskier looks down. Sure enough, his hand had strayed to the little bump and was smoothing over it. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Winter isn’t for another two months still.”

“Very astute, love.”

Geralt snorts and tugs his hair until Jaskier yelps and bats his hands away. “I mean, I think we should find somewhere safe for you until it’s time to make the trip to Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier frowns and turns to lay on his back, his head still in Geralt’s lap. The hand that had tugged his hair now smooths it back. “You want to split up?”

“Only for a couple weeks,” Geralt says. “The Path, as I’ve said, is no place for you right now. You’re only going to get more uncomfortable in the coming months, and you need to be somewhere you can rest and relax. It would… I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you or the pup because you’re with me.”

“What do you propose, then?”

“I can put you up somewhere. Somewhere with good weather and plenty of things for you to do. Somewhere you can relax and pick at that lute you’ve barely touched the past few weeks.”

Jaskier frowns. “Fingers were too swollen.”

“The swelling will go down if you rest.” Geralt leans over him to catch his eye. “And as much as I love having you close, knowing you and the pup are safe and healthy, I’d feel better knowing you were somewhere you can get warm baths and hot food whenever you want.”

“How do you propose we do that, hmm? It isn’t as if we have the money.”

Geralt puts a hand on Jaskier’s chest to hold him steady as he reaches over the edge of the bed for his sword. He unclasps the pin there, the one he’d pulled from Renfri’s body as a reminder all those years ago. He holds it out for Jaskier. 

The bard takes it and studies it. “I’ve seen this but didn’t want to ask.” His thumb runs carefully across the clasp. “I figured it was sentimental. It’s fine craftsmanship. I’m sure it would sell for a pretty penny, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“It is,” Geralt says. “I’m not sentimental. The person who gave it to me is long dead. It was more of a… reminder to myself, than anything else. I don’t…” He looks at Jaskier. The bard was now holding the hand Geralt had put on his chest, stroking his wrist softly as he watches Geralt with those wide, innocent eyes. “I don’t think I need it anymore.”

Jaskier’s heart rate spikes for a moment as he turns the pin over in his hand, pink flushing his cheeks. “If you’re sure,” he says. “I don’t want you giving up any more than you already have for me, Geralt. I’ll never be able to repay you for your kindness.”

“I’m not doing this so you’ll pay me back.”

“Then why are you?”

The same question from earlier, just rephrased. Glancing at Jaskier, Geralt knows he did it on purpose. Geralt sighs and takes the pin back, just to give himself something to do. “Because you’re special, Jask.” The bard beams, and Geralt nudges him softly. “Don’t let it go to your head. I’m going to sell this so you don’t freeze or go hungry while I’m gone. I’ll let you pick the town.”

“Oxenfurt,” he says without hesitation.

Geralt frowns. “Why Oxenfurt?”

“I’ve got friends there, at the university,” Jaskier explains. “I know at least one of them will put me up, especially if I pay for food and whatever other expenses I’ll have.”

“How do you know these friends?”

“Stand down, guard dog,” Jaskier chuckles. “We grew up together. Priscilla was from a neighboring family, and we were the same age, so we always sat together at parties. She is kind, and generous, and happily bonded to her alpha, Philippa.” He gives Geralt a significant look and Geralt stops bristling—which he didn’t even realize he was doing. “They’re good friends, Geralt. They’ll ensure I’m looked after while you’re gone.”

Geralt nods, smoothing a hand down Jaskier’s chest. His gaze strays to the little bump on the bard’s belly, where Jaskier is still stroking.

“You want to feel?” the omega offers. “Pup won’t be moving for a couple months, probably, but it’s a fascinating feeling.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier takes his hand and lifts his chemise, letting Geralt finally rest his palm over the little swell beneath his navel. His skin is hot and smooth, little divots where his skin has begun stretching to accommodate the life growing beneath the surface. It’s not big—Geralt’s hand covers the full expanse of it—but it feels significant. If he focuses, he can feel the vibrations of the pup’s heartbeat. His breath leaves him in a rush. 

“What?” Jaskier asks in quiet alarm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Geralt says. He strokes his hand across Jaskier’s belly gently, soothing him in and taking in the feel. “I can feel their heartbeat.”

“Really?” Jaskier slips his hand under Geralt’s, brows drawing in with the effort of trying. 

Geralt chuckles softly at him. “You won’t be able to. Witcher senses.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier squeaks. The scent of tears alerts Geralt to his sudden burst of emotion.

“Jaskier?” He shifts around so the bard is no longer on his lap and leans over him, one hand still on his belly and the other on the bed. “Jaskier, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“No, no.” Jaskier gives a shaky laugh and wipes his face with the hand not trapped under Geralt’s. “I’m fine. Just… overwhelmed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He flips his hand over to catch Geralt’s fingers in his. “That was the greatest gift you could give me. Guh.” He gives a mighty, nasty sniff that makes Geralt laugh. “Shut up. Don’t make fun of a poor, pregnant omega.”

“I would never.” Geralt raises their joined hands to his lips before he even realizes what he’s doing and presses a kiss to the omega’s knuckles. Jaskier’s cheeks turn pink and his scent takes a sultry spike that Geralt doesn’t let himself linger on. “So, we’re agreed? Tomorrow we leave for Oxenfurt, where you’ll stay with your friends if they’ll have you. I’ll return for you in two months when it’s time to make the trip up the Blue Mountains. We’ll spend the winter in Kaer Morhen until the pup arrives, then we stay as long as you need to recover.”

Jaskier blinks up at him. “We… you mean you intend to keep me around after the pup arrives?”

“Of course,” Geralt says, though he hadn’t put much thought to it before. All he knew was that there was no way he was willing to part with his omega. 

No, not his omega. Just Jaskier. Jaskier, who happened to be an omega. Jaskier, who was carrying another alpha’s pup. 

Jaskier can’t seem to find words—a rare occurrence for him—so he just pulls Geralt down into a crushing hug. Geralt keeps himself up, afraid to put too much weight on the bard. “Thank you,” Jaskier whispers, a fresh wave of tears spilling from his eyes and smearing all over both of them. “Thank you, thank you.”

[thewritersaddictions]

Request: The Witcher: Jaskier - Runaway Princess

Pairing: Jaskier x Princess!Fem!Reader

Pov: Reader

Summary: The shy princess is enthralled by the bard at a local tavern. Could it be everything she was looking for?

Warnings: Almost being killed, getting caught, smut, friends to lovers, fuck the hierarchy, falling in love, sacrificing everything for someone, passion, fluff, shyness,

A/n- @ firefly-graphics for dividers

WC- 3.3 k

Requests Master List // The Witcher Master List // The Bard Master List

She was looking for something, anything that lead far away from the dimmed light of the castle. The gowns that fit to tight, for poor Y/n she may have a crown with diamonds and sapphires but her heart desired more. It yearned for something less showy, and more homey feeling. Sure she had a wonderful set of parents. A loving mother and father, but what they could not give their daughter was that true and rare feeling of walking outside the castle walls, being just another person among the streets. 

Once the handmaiden had left I was rushing for the windows, as I looked over the edge the ground came close and then far all in a moments time. I shook the image from my head, and went in search of better outside attire. The sheer night gown wasn’t going to cut it if I was going to make it down the side of my window and into the village. From my room the village looked small, the hundreds of flames that flickering back and forth in the the wind. 

Had I been stealing the young girls clothes that worked in the kitchen in exchange for extra coins so that I could go out in a disguise… of course I had it was the only way that I was going to be able to go without causing a very big scene. I only ever got to out once or twice a year. One of holidays and the other for any special announcements. I wanted to be where the people were, the bustle of feet on the dirty paths left dust to fall onto your shoes. I wanted nothing more then to feel normal even if it were just for one night. 

The girls clothes were a bit tight around my hips and my bust, but I could care less as I climbed down the stone wall of the castle. Landing feet first on wet, dewey grass. The air had a biting chill yet it didn’t scare me away from exploring the village. I made my way around guards, and others before finally making it to the gate. A gate was all the stood in my way of the village, the people the ones that loved us without knowing why. 

The side of the said huge gate was a small door, no bigger then my bedroom door. I twisted the handle, and pulled but it didn’t budge. Panic began to arise in from the pits of my chest. I swallowed hard when footsteps got louder. I jiggled the handle and with a push of my hand the door opened. I leaped through the doorway, shutting the door without thinking for another second. I was sure that I had thought this far yet standing here now. On the other side of the gate I was frozen with fear, and with the unknown ahead of me I stood there. Minutes passed by before the sheer fact that I was outside of the castle walls hit me like a ton of bricks. 

My cheeks bagan to burn with a smile so great, I don’t think I’d ever smiled like this, not even for a painting of my portrait. Confidence began to grow in my chest, and with that my feet were taking me on my first adventure to the village. The streets weren’t crowded as how I had imagined it, but the flames that were ablaze in almost every window told me life was still happening just inside right now. I walked the streets for what seemed like hours until the loud banter, and laughter came from a shabby looking building not far off the path. 

A wonky sign laid lopsided on the top of the building. Simply written it said ‘The Tavern’. The sounds of a few voices rang out from behind the doors, and windows. Drunken men and women stumbling out onto the path. Nonetheless the sounds of a beautiful voice dragged me nearer. The beautiful voice turned out to be singing. A tale from what I caught just the end of. “That’s my epic tale, Our champion prevailed, Defeated the villain, Now pour home some ale” His voice rang out across the tarven. He sat atop a table, a lute laid across his lap. He was so beautiful, or handsome whatever he was words could not describe, so I watched in awe. “Toss a coin to your Witcher, O Valley of Plenty!, O Valley of Plenty!, Toss a coin to your Witcher, A friend of humanity.” His riff was remarkable, and yet all I could do was stare at him from afar. Blue eyes staring out into the crowded floor of patrons in front of him.

I wanted deeply to talk to him, my bones ached for conversation with the man with blue eyes. Confidence oozed from him across the grimmy, and dirty floor stopping just before it would ever get to me. I ducked my head out of the tarven, and walked away from my growing obsession. Except I didn’t just walk away, I ran like a bat out of hell. I ran so far that I somehow managed toget myself right back at the tarven the next night, the following night after that, and so many more just hoping. Crossing my fingers that the bard would be there singing another one of his tales. Singing, drawing me in, closer and closer every night. 

Just for the off chance that the bard would be there. I had gotten so good at climbing from down my bedroom window that I knew exactly when I could leave, who was posted on guard and that the small door next to the gate was always left open. The plans of getting back in were always harder, or maybe I should that they were getting harder. With every chance I was able to descend down the castle walls the more aggriant I got. With every walk on the dirt path to the tarven the nights turns into days quicker and quicker. That meant the plans of getting back into the castle walls only got harder. 

Yet I cared not for as long as I got to gaze, and hear the sounds of his angelic voice ring through my ears. Most night it traveled behind me like a bird singing her morning song. It kept me calm before the morning started and the drag of the day took place. Where tight corsets, and snickering happened. 

It wasn’t till the summer night cooled down, and the fall began to liter the ground it it browned and reddned leafs that I was caught by none other then the bard himself. Now let me make this perfectly clearly I’m yes a shy person, but there’s something about the way he talked to me when he first laid his eyes on me. I had talked to men before, been courted about a dozen times. Never having worked out due to one thing or another. I had danced at court with a few genetlman, but never tallked to someone from outside that proteigous realm of people. Fear had settled, and I stuff my heels in the dirty waiting for the worst to happen. 

Except it didn’t, because why would the worst happen? 

“You aren’t new here,” The bard said as he snuck up from behind me. Shaking me with a sort of fear I wasn’t used to. I swallowed down the fear, and the scream that wanted to come out. “No.” That was a simple answer, but all the sudden I didn’t want to talk I just wanted to look at him. I wanted to be the invisible girl behind the crowd of people that looked but never dared to touch. “I see you every time I’m in here.” I nodded, “Oh how rude of me, the names Jaskier, and you are?” In a moments time I had turned looked him up and down. Now that he was standing right here, now that he was in touching distance. Everything was blown out of proportions for me. Lean frame but built good, a fresh dandelion smell wafted from his clothes 

The words that wanted to come out were stuck in the back of my very dry throat. He must have sensed my painc, “How about this we can get a drink, or we can get the hell out of this loud place maybe go for a walk?” Jaskier offered, I nodded my head, “I’ll take you meant the second thing.” I nodded again words still not wanting to come out in a coherent sentence. He lead the path through women and men standing around near the door, and out onto the dirt path. “This is better?” He asked me. “Yeah…” The words they were working now, he smiled brightly at me even though the dimmed flames and the moon light gave me little to work with I knew his face like the back of my hand. Many a night I just stare at him. 

“My names Y/n.” Finally getting up the courage to answer his first question ‘Well that’s a beautiful name, Y/n.” My names rolls off his lips with a sort of grace that most people don’t even have at court. “And I must say that it fits your beauty as well.” A chamer this man is, I swallow hard trying to will the heat that grows at the edges of my cheek bones. The conversation starts to grow into something I’d never had with anyone else. His voice is so soothing that when the first sight of sun rays hit the horizon I’m not even paying attention. 

When the blinding rays hit my eyes, the panic rises in my chest, “I’m sorry Jaskier I have to get going.” My words rushing out of my mouth, and Jaskier doesn’t understand what’s going on. “I’ll see you again right?’ He asks as I start to walk away. “Of course.” I say without even thinking, ‘And even if you don’t I’ll see you’ I think to myself as I run as fast as my feet with allow. 

This friendship grows every night I see him, he’s there in the tarven every night. Singing about tales of the past, and then the songs they turn into something else. Songs about her beauty, oh how she must be something from the heavens. As our frienship grows so does my confidence and one night without thinking as Jaskier is going on and on about something I lean in, kissing his lip ever so gently. He shuts up almost automatically. “What… what was that for?” He barely manages to get out. “You’re just so very handsome.” I mutter. My lips are burning with a sensation I’ve never felt before. 

Kissing Jaskier becomes the only thing I can think about, the only thing that I want to do. The thing that wakes me in the morning when the stray lights of morning sun hit my face, when I sit at lunch with my mother and father. It’s the driving force that has me climbing out the window even when the icy wind picks up and chills me to my bones. Summer having come and gone now that winter is here the outside conversation and little kisses become to hard to have. So Jaskier suggests we get a room, “A room?” I ask not understanding, “actually we don’t have to get it, since I’ve been paying for the room since I met you. It’s just above the tarven.” Jaskier says it as if it’s the most normal thing on the planet. 

The night with the searing wind hitting the window the rooms chills and the banter down the stairs is muted by the sounds of Jaskier kissing my lips and my neck. Something turns into more, and more turns into ecstasy. It’s all I want now, I have no want to leave when the morning hits the brim of the world. I just want Jaskier. I want his hands on me forever, I want his everything he has to give me. Yet when the church bells go off I have to leave him. I hasetly dress myself, rushing down stairs bumping into people. Barely making it to the castle walls, or through the smal door. My heart is racing as I leap into bed awaiting the regular knock on my bedroom door. 

“Princess Y/n, are you awake?” The small voices asks from the other side of the door. “You may come in.” I say trying to make my voice seems calm. That night I was right back out the window. The small gate and to him, “Where did you go?” Jaskier asks caring not that he had stopped his sings thrown down his lute. “I… I was…” The words can’t and won’t come out even if I tried to make them. “Did I do something? Was I too rough with you, please Y/n just explain.” Jaskier begs. “That was my first time jaskier.” I say in a whispered breath. His eyes widden, “Oh my dear sweet dove.” He says reaching over to grasps my cheek I melt into his touch. “I wish you would have said.” He mutters as he presses his forehead into mine. Nose brushing against nose. 

The night takes a turn for a sweet cuddle between a set of warmed sheets. Jaskier keeps his lips to himself for a little awhile then I want him to. “I’m sorry I didn’t say…” Jaskier hushes me before I can even finish my thought. “I should have reliazed my love, that’s on me. But I promise if you give me anothe chance I’ll be gently and kind with your mind, and body.” Jaskier says before pressing kisses into my exposed skin. His hands are searching for my skin, and my hands are searching for something to ground me to him. 

The moment is ripped away from the both of us, when a knock, a hard knock happens to befall the door. Jaskier looks up at me, then towards the door. “I must have forgotten my lute downstairs. I’ll be right back my love.” Jaksier says pressing a chaste kiss into my lips. He opens the door, I can see the flame shine in the metal of their armor. “Where is she?” He guard asks Jaskier. His voice booming hitting all the walls around me. Jaskier stands there dumbfounded. “Who?” Jaskier asks, and I bear witness to the fall of his expression when the guard tells him that they are indeed looking for the princess, “Princess Y/n, there have been reports of her here at this tarven. With you.” 

The moment still, and everything happens in slow motion. Jaskeir turning to look at me. I’m left with my mouth gaping open. “Your the princess.” He doesn’t sound angry, or really like anything. “I… didn’t mean for…” “Princess Y/n, you have to come back to the castle with…” Guards then see the state that I am in, clothes half off my clothes and in the bed, hair a mess. The next few things area blur, the chains that end up circling Jaskier wrist, and a guards drags the both of us back to the castle. 

That large gate opening. “Why?” Jaskier asks,m before a guards slaps him, and tell him he isn’t allowed to talk to me. I’m walked to the court where my father and mother are sitting there with worry written on their expression. While Jaskier is taken in the opposite direction. “My king, this man was seen with the princess. We caught him with her in bed.” The guard says prideful; of his actions.

“Why could you do this?’ My mother asks, “Because she’s spoiled rotten that’s why.” My father answers her question. “I’m not spoiled rotten.” I disagree, “You are to go to your room, and someone needs to bind her windows up. I will not have my daughter making a fool out of the crown for what a bard.” He spits venom out at me. I bit my inner cheek willing the tears to go awau but nothing helps, not when I know that I had caused all of this. Hours later a knock comes to my door, my mother comes in through the door  “Sweetheart.” I cry on my side thinking that I want is a moments time with jaskier. “It wasn’t his fault mother.” I tell her through hiccups, and shear breaths. 

“Oh my sweet darling daughter, do you love him?” She asks me, as she combs her nimble fingers through the ends of my hair. “Mother I do not know.” I honestly do not know, “Of course you know.” My mother says all knowing, she’s probably right but I’m not sure Ic an say the words. Say the truth outloud. “Do you think I will be able to see him?” I ask my mother, she thinks for a moment. “Your father probably won’t allow it my dear.” The ears start to bubble over the edge of my lashes. “But I’ll see what we can do.” She promises me. 

With that she kisses my forehead, and she’s out the door. I sit there for the rest of the night feeling sorry for myself, and Jaskier. I feel as if it’s all my fault. This feeling sits at the bottom on my stomach for what seems like weeks. It isn’t until those weeks turn into months does my mother come back. Giving me rather good, and bad news. “Sweetheart, I need to tell you a few things.” My mother said softly. “Yes mother.” “The boy is be putting to death, but you can talk to him before he goes to the gallows.” There was no warning or anything from her. “Right now?” I asked her, she nodded her. 

I had never rushed down the stairs of the hallways so fast to just get to one person. “Jaskier!” “Y/N!” I followed the sounds of his angelic voice. When I reached thebar that held him in the cell. “Oh god, you’re so… I’ll go get something to clean your face up.” I said, “NO please don’t go.” Jaskier pleaded with me. “They will be taking me tothe gallows soon. I just wanted to see that beautiful face of your before I meet the heavenly gods.” Jaskier words hushed. “Oh Jaskier this is all my fault, but I… I have a way to fix it all. I promise.” His brows furrowed together. “What do you mean?” worry seeping into his voice all for me while he was going to be killed. 

“Jaskier I would do anything for you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, or for well anyone that I loved.” Jaskier looked me up and down. “What are you saying Y/n?” He asked as he eyed my hand on my stomach. “Please don’t do something so irrationally. I’m not worth your jewels, your titles, or your throne.” Jaskier pleaded with me, I scoff at him. “Of course you are Jask. You are worth it all because I love you.”

Jaskier is brought to the gallows with my father looking proud of himself, and my mother  standing by his side. “Do you have any words to say before you are killed?” My father boasts. “I do.” The shock written over my fathers expression is hard to ignore. “Y/n sit down.” He demands, “No, I don’t care anymore. I will do anything for this man. Regardless of what you think I should do or not. I’m giving up my everything for him and our baby. I’d rather be happy and poor with Jaskier and our baby then be miserable and alone on the throne.” I said loud and clear, throwing my crown down to the ground. “Undo Jaskier chains, he and I will leave without a single word.” My father twitches with anger and as he’s about to burst at the seams my mother whispers into his ear. 

Moments later, “Undo his chains and escort them out.” My father demands and with that when Jasker is in my arms the kiss of life brings both of us back together. “A child?” He asks against my lips. “Our child Jaskier.”

Completed on: 09/24/23

Posted on: 09/24/23

The Bard-

[aenkamelie]

Jaskier: *calling Geralt*

Geralt: *answers* What's up lark?

Jaskier: Love! Geralt: Hey, hey... Remember when I said I felt sick to my stomach and was going to see the doctor?

Geralt: Humm, yeah, if it turned out to be a tapeworm?

Jaskier: Yeah well... *Looking at the obstetrics room* The worm is going to be six months old...

[thedemonofcat]

Before Jaskier was born, a white-haired witcher saved his mother, who was in trouble without knowing she was pregnant.

At seven, Jaskier nearly drowned after falling into a lake. The same white-haired witcher, passing by, jumped in to save the young Viscount.

At fifteen, while studying at Oxenfurt, Jaskier's drink was tampered with by another student. Though his memories of that night are hazy, a white-haired man saved him and carried him back to his room.

Jaskier meets Geralt, who repeatedly saves him from danger. Unbeknownst to both, Destiny had intertwined their fates long ago.

[magdelanesingerin]

I have my reasons why

This is a companion piece to @spielzeugkaiser 's Lovechild AU which continues to grab me by the throat and shake me around by the emotions. Especially after the recent update with Vesemir taking Jaskier and Milek to Kaer Morhen while Geralt was…indisposed, I found myself last night imagining all of the worst case scenarios that must have gone through Jaskier’s mind when he considered telling Geralt about Milek, and how those fears must have evolved over time. Soooo, THIS.

Jaskier is chasing Geralt’s retreating back down an impossibly long, whitewashed hallway.

“Geralt wait!”

The Witcher stalks on without so much as turning his head.

“I’m…I’m pregnant.” 

The light seems to echo the throb of his panicked heartbeat once the words are free, pulsing brighter and brighter around him. Geralt stops and shakes his head, turning back just enough so that Jaskier can see the look of disdain on his face. 

“I know,” he growls disgustedly. “I’m a Witcher, Jaskier. You think I couldn’t smell it on you? I knew before you did.” 

“But…then why…Geralt…don’t leave me…” he stumbles forward but can’t get closer. The space between them stretches strangely. 

“You and your bastard whelp aren’t my problem.” Geralt starts moving away again, and Jaskier can’t contain the words that burst out of his chest like a flock of birds, too loud and brittle in jagged shapes he can almost see fluttering through the air.

“It’s yours. The baby. It’s yours.”

Geralt turns slowly in the too-bright hallway, his face twisted in a snarl. The shape of him looks sharp and vicious outlined against the white walls. It hurts to look at him. He seems to grow to fill the narrow space until he looms over Jaskier like a mountain. 

“Fuck,” he sneers. “I knew you were pathetic, Bard, but this is a new low. To lie to me about something like this to make me stay with you?”

“It’s not a lie. Not a lie. There was only you.” Jaskier tries to speak but his words fall out of his mouth silently and shatter on the floor without ever being heard. He wraps his hands protectively over the curve of his belly to shield it from the shards as they scatter.

“Witchers are sterile. It’s impossible.”

The white walls of the hallway fall apart and become the white sky of an open hillside, wind whipping around them as Geralt shouts at him, teeth bared, eyes wild. 

“Why would you say that to me? Are you really that cruel and selfish? Of course you are, what else would you be! Haven’t you ruined my life enough?!”

Jaskier’s feet are suddenly scrabbling on a slope of loose shale and he feels himself start to fall. 

He wakes with a sob, body curled uncomfortably into a tight space in the back of a wagon. His legs are cramped, his back twitching and screaming at him as he jerks to consciousness. He grits his teeth against the spasming muscles and tries to stretch what he can in the space allowed, cradling his rounded belly. He can feel his baby shift and kick, and rubs his palm over them soothingly. 

continue on Ao3

[changenameno]

My Own (Chapter 4)

Summary:

Geralt finds himself once more on the path, gloomily looking at what lies ahead.
And you? You had no one, no home and certainly no coin. Well that’d be something you had in common. No coin. You two are surely off to a great start…

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem. Nymph Reader

Warnings: 18+, tragic backstory, death + violence, angsty ending to this chapter, MDNI (there will be smut in the future)

Word count: 1.1K

A/N: Geralt learns who you are exactly…. I whipped this up, yesterday night, when I had a minute to myself :)…Again all reblogs and comments are much appreciated (please be kind though)! Hope you enjoy reading!❤️✨

(FYI: This won’t follow the exact timeline of the Witcher. But Geralt has met Jaskier already.)

!The Witcher characters and world are not mine!

 

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(In case you’ve missed CHAPTER 3)

CHAPTER 4
 

Neither you, nor him wanted to talk about what had occurred. So instead of making this anymore awkward than need be, you both had settled in, by the fire.

As the silence between you stretched relentlessly, you became more and more restless, so you told him your name and then continued, “Well just thought you might want to know. And…thank you for, removing the arrow.”

“You must be hungry.” Unsure why he seemed to ignore your previous statement, you simply nodded. Because quite frankly you were starving.

Geralt got to his feet and returned shortly, after he’d pulled his water-skin and his last piece of bread out of his saddlebags. He handed them to you, then sat back down to your right, closer than before.

Your mouth salivated just smelling the bread, but first you took a big swing of the water. Murmuring, “Thanks.” Then you began devouring the bread as if it were your last meal.

Focusing on your lips, he wondered how they’d feel against his. Probably soft and perfectly sultry. Evidently unable to stop his speculations, he gave in and let his inappropriate thoughts run free.

In fact he’d been so lost in thought, he only caught the end of what you’d said,”…aren’t you?”

Expectedly you raised your brow, waiting for his answer to your question.

He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head. “What?”

Either he wasn’t used to company — at all — or he was a bit slow. In any case you repeated your earlier query, “I said, you are the whited-haired Witcher. The Geralt of Rivia of the songs, aren’t you? ”

Grinding his teeth at the reminder of Jaskier’s stupid, although well-known songs, he managed a nod, not trusting he wouldn’t snarl at you.

As he didn’t know anything about you, apart from your name, he opted to ask you a question of his own, “How come, I had to remove an arrow from your shoulder? Who shot you and why?”

Another pressing question of his was, what you were? Because he knew you weren’t human. But he’d the feeling you weren’t particularly chatty either, so he wanted to go slow, to prevent you from closing up again.

His question caught you off guard. Yet you knew that you owed him an honest answer, after all he’d saved you and had dressed your wound.

Sighing you began, “It’s a bit of a long story…” Then you told him, how your life had been in danger even before it’d really started. Being born half nymph, half mage, put you in a position of unknown power and therefore in peril. Especially because it wasn’t heard off, that a female mage still possessed a womb and could get pregnant.

Your mother had been a mage at court and your father was a forest nymph. Once they’d met, falling in love head over heels.

You were smiling softly when you told him that next part, “You know nearly like an invisible pull, they were made for each other. Sort of destined to meet.” Geralt listened to you attentively, taking in your every word and expression, while you talked.

He noted that the smile you wore, wasn’t a happy one, as it didn’t reach your eyes and your voice was becoming huskier the longer you continued your story.

“Unfortunately it didn’t end very well for them. Once I was born, my mum tried hiding me from court. Because the king and queen had tried conceiving for years, desperately wanting a child of their own. And she knew they weren’t above, taking me away from her. So I lived with my dad and other nymphs in the nearby forest, for about ten years. Learning their ways and customs.”

Swallowing thickly, you averted your gaze, staring into the sizzling flames in front of you, though proceeding with your narrative, ” One day my mum showed up, devastated. They had found out about me and wanted to have me as their own, as their heir. Going as far as threatening to burn down the whole forest and slaughtering everyone in their way. I was terrified, so I readily agreed to come to court, not wanting anyone to die because of me. What I didn’t know, was that as soon as I was in the castle, they proceeded with their murderous plan. Needing to destroy any chance of being reclaimed by my parents.”

Nearly overcome by emotion, you stopped there, breathing unsteadily.

The Witcher was a better listener than you’d given him credit for, not once interrupting you or commenting.

When your tear filled eyes, landed on his gleaming ones, you somehow found the strength to carry on.

“They killed them. Made me Princess, and declared me their daughter. I hated them, loathed their very existence for years. But they were the only people looking after me. And as much as I hate to admit it, they were kind to me and the castle slowly became my home. But when word spread about my inheritance, other kingdoms grew interested. Proposing marriages, left and right. However the king and queen didn’t want that, outright refused. Their mistake, because a nearby kingdom, saw that as opportunity to take me by force. They came during the night. Killing everyone. Burning down, my second home. The only place I’d left.”

Geralt knew that was the tragic end to the story, because he must have found you shortly after you’d escaped. Now he finally knew why you’d healed so quickly. You were part nymph.

“I’m sorry”, was the only thing that he thought would be appropriate to say.

He was certain you’d told him the truth, because he could list at least five kings that wouldn’t have hesitated to do the same, or would have paid him handsomely, just to get you within their grasp. Something similar must have crossed your mind, since all of a sudden your face was contorted, looking terror-stricken.

He wouldn’t turn you in, would he? You knew supposedly, witchers didn’t have emotions and he’d be paid good money to catch you. And from the looks of it, he surely could need some money. But he’d saved you. So Geralt wouldn’t do it, right? Before your anxious thoughts would overhelm you entirely, you took action.

Your musical, though wavering voice broke the silence,” You’re not turning me in, are you?”

Afraid of his answer, you drew in a sharp breath.

Dread filling you, as he abruptly rose up.

CHAPTER 5

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Taglist:

If you’re interested in being on my taglist please let me know! And if you want to be taken off (my taglist), feel free to tell me! ❤️✨

[thenightling]

This is not going to earn me any friends in The Witcher fandom but here we go... I admit I do NOT like that Yennefer was willing to sacrifice Ciri to get her powers back. I do NOT like that one of Geralt’s friends (a fellow Witcher) had his personality inverted and was then killed for plot convenience in season 2.

But that being said I feel that... in GENERAL there are parts of the Netflix series of The Witcher that are improvements on the books.   For example Jaskier’s “Sandpiper” persona to smuggle people to safety, I love that.

  Also Geralt accidentally invoking “Law of Surprise” in front of the pregnant royal.  I love how the show depicted his not wanting to take someone’s child and how upset it made him and how he tried to flee.  And then ultimately accepting becoming Ciri’s adoptive father.  I think that was all well-handled in the show.

[astxroiid]

being married to jaskier // headcanon -- from this request

navigation

❥ first things first: the proposal.

it was more beautiful and well thought out than you thought possible. -- he’d rather excitedly led you out to the forest and into a field. -- light from the candles he’d placed on stumps danced across the grass, though the light from the full moon would’ve sufficed. -- Jaskier had flowers placed in a circle around a large blanket on the ground and a basket full of foods set atop the blanket and beside and ornate bottle of wine. -- you both ate and drank first, though you had no idea what was coming. -- he spoke of old times and adventures you’d went on together, you admired his charm. -- when he took a knee, you were shocked enough that you dropped your bread on the blanket.

❥ his speech was heartfelt and absolutely beautiful. -- naturally after you said yes you kissed him which turned to something heated as you made love on the forest floor.

❥ he’s a sucker for clichés, so he definitely carries you through the door much to your dismay.

“Jask! Put me down! M’not a child!” -- “But, my love, it’s tradition.”

❥ he’s an absolute gentleman.

massaging you after hard days and bringing you a drink while he does. -- some mornings he brings you breakfast in bed and some days you do the same for him.

❥ it’s a cohesive and fair relationship and the best one you’ve ever been in.

❥ he’s an absolute sweetheart when you’re sick

“are you sure you’re okay, darling? I can get you more soup or a warm towel or—” -- “—Jask. Honey, I’m okay. I promise, I won’t die.”

❥ begging you for a child.

"But imagine a mini us? They'd be adora-" -- "that sounds like a nightmare, jask. Not right now." -- secretly your pregnant.

❥ your house is amazing.

you have infinite time to decorate and design. -- candles everywhere, cozy furniture strategically placed. -- the fireplace almost always burning because jaskier had to choose a cold place to live. -- it's fine though, you enjoy the cold (most of the time).

❥ having geralt over all the time.

you've trained him to take his muddy shoes off before coming inside, but figuring out what to do with his blood soaked clothes is another thing. -- he always compliments your home. -- geralt is the sweetest to you. -- "jaskier, your wife looks especially lovely this evening, wouldn't you say?" -- "i would say she looks especially wonderful every day." -- there's a designated room in the back for geralt to crash in, and a designated box for all the clothes he brings in covered in gods-know what liquid. -- it's Jaskier's job to wash them. -- "why must i?" -- "because. He's your best friend, and you get to clean up behind him." You smile.

❥ having a small farm with plenty of sources for food.

you gave each of the hens nature-themed names. -- the two cows got named daisy and dandy. -- your favorite group to harvest will always be the strawberries, stealing some to eat in the moment being a habit by now.

❥ jaskier got a dog to heard the sheep.

he named him Bailey and taught him how to sit, lay, and shake within the first 2 weeks. -- he cuddles up to the two of you at night, keeping you both warm. -- his best friend is a brown sheep named Jack. "Jaskier, your dog just farted." You say, half asleep in the dark of the bedroom. -- "no, love, that was me." He says apologetically.

❥ going on vacations and making geralt take care of the house and animals for you.

"And where is the dog's bed?" geralt asks, begrudgingly. -- "oh he sleeps in the bed with us usually." Jaskier quips. -- "great." -- and even though geralt seems displeased with Bailey, everytime you leave and come back home you find the two cuddled up together in bed. Fast asleep.

❥ vacations to the beach every summer.

there's a little hut jaskier build a couple years back that you share, usually opting to sleep under the stars anyway. -- swimming together every single day your out there. -- catching and cooking seafood. -- always bringing home extras for Bailey and geralt. -- you collect a sea shell each year you go, making a memorial wall for all the trips.

❥ the love songs jaskier writes during married life are some of the best in his career.

every new song gets massive cheers and applause from any crowd in a tavern that hears it. -- of course every song is about you. How you'll they not be? -- Jaskier hasn't wrote a sad song since the day he said his vows.

❥ he's a total bed hog.

jaskier and Bailey both, though mainly Jaskier takes up almost the entirety of the bed, tangling himself in the blankets. -- and yet, he feels bad every morning he wakes up and sees you on the edge of the bed, curled in a ball. -- you never mind, staying asleep for all of it.

❥ and somehow, the most obnoxious man you ever met became the best man you'll ever know.

omfg I'm so sorry that took me so long to write for you, love! that writers block came from nowhere jfc.

[loki-is-my-kink-awakening]

2023 Writing Round-up

I wrote 33 fics this year.

JANUARY

Dancing Around His Feelings (Witcher, M, 1.5k)

Jaskier visits the Countess da Stael to help him get over his heartbreak. Implied Geraskier. Witcher Flash Fic Challenge.

One Special Night (Witcher, E, 1.5k)

Jaskier gives Elihal earrings for a night on the town. It leads to a special night of sex. Witcher Flash Fic Challenge.

FEBRUARY

A New Life (Midnight Mass, T, 1.5k)

Priley. John plans to ask Riley to run away with him, but it turns out he was too late to ask.

A Kiss Like No Other (Loki, T, 666)

Lokius. Alt S1E6 ending. Loki and Mobius meet again and share a passionate kiss.

The Real Treasure (Witcher, M, 3.7k)

Geraskier. Modern AU. Family fluff mainly. Jaskier sends Geralt on a treasure hunt, but it’s really a ruse to spend time with his family. Witcher Flash Fic Challenge.

MARCH

A Nice Afternoon (Witcher, E, 1.9k)

Geraskier. Modern AU. Smut. Jaskier and Geralt enjoy an afternoon performing a certain sex act. 69th Witcher Flash Fic Challenge.

APRIL

Sure, Big Boy (Stranger Things, T, 100)

Steddie. Steve is caught staring at Eddie.

Impatience (Stranger Things, M, 100)

Steddie. Eddie has Steve all tied up and waiting.

One On The Way (Loki, T, 3.8k)

Lokius. Canon divergence. Loki discovers he’s pregnant and doesn’t know how to tell Mobius. Gift fic.

Jaskier Sandwich (Witcher, E, 2.5k)

Geraskier/Lambden. Smut. Jaskier enjoys an afternoon sandwiched between Lambert and Aidan while Geralt watches. Witcher Flash Fic Challenge.

The Temptation of Christ (Midnight Mass, E, 3.3k)

Priley. Smut. John celebrates Easter by stringing Riley up on a cross. For the Church of Priley Discord server's Easter event.

While The World Falls Apart (Loki, T, 1.3k)

Lokius. Pre S2. As Kang’s forces surround them with no hope of escape, Loki decides to kiss Mobius for the first time. Kiss prompt.

Lessons In Self Discovery (Witcher, M, 1.6k)

Geraskier/Lambden. Spanking. Geralt watches Aiden spank Jaskier and Lambert, and learns something about his own desires in the process. Witcher Flash Fic Challenge.

The Tears Of A Trickster (Loki, M, 855)

Lokius. Pre S2. Mobius tries to hide his arousal at Loki crying in front of him, but the trickster knows all too well how to use it to his advantage. Flash Fic Friday Challenge.

His Summer (Witcher, G, 888)

Geraskier. Fluff. Geralt realises he doesn’t want the summer to end because it means time alone from Jaskier. Flash Fic Friday challenge.

Afterwards (Loki, T, 978)

Lokius. Angst. Loki spirals after getting together with Mobius. They run, but Mobius follows them and provides much-needed comfort. Flash Fic Friday Challenge.

Fighting To Get To You (Witcher, T, 2.6k)

Geraskefer. Geralt and Yennefer fight tooth and nail to rescue a kidnapped Jaskier. Witcher Flash Fic Challenge.

MAY

All In A Day’s Work (Loki, M, 904)

Lokius. Smutty humour. HR manager Mobius is fed up with Loki being sent to see him every day for inappropriate comments, so he comes up with a creative solution. Flash Fic Friday Challenge.

The Start Of Something New (TLOU, M, 2.2k)

Bill x Frank. Smut. A deeper look at Bill and Frank’s first time together. Gift fic.

Watch It Burn (Loki, T, 3.4k)

Lokius. Hurt/comfort. Mobius doesn’t expect Loki to return after leaving him and Sylvie in the Void, but he does. Gift fic.

Keeping Hope Alive (Loki, T, 3.5k)

Mobius and Ravonna. Mobius is stuck on a mission going wrong when he bumps into Ravonna. They face the ruins of their friendship as well as the enemy. Gift fic.

Much Ado About Lokius (Loki, G, 1.9k)

Lokius. Humour. Loki and Mobius go on a mission involving a Shakespeare play, Loki in a dress and facing their inherent feelings for one another. Originally written for the Mischievous Scamp zine.

JUNE

Silky Heat (OFMD, E, 3.1k)

Stizzy. Omegaverse. Stede discovers Izzy’s secret and helps him through his heat (consensually). For Knot In My Name event.

A Barking Dog Seldom Bites (OFMD, E, 19.5k)

Stizzy/Steddyhands. Smut. Izzy finally loses the rag about Stede always touching him and it results in explosive sex. For the OFMD Reverse Big Bang.

SEPTEMBER

Drown Out All The Sound (Witcher, E, 2.7k)

Radskier. Smut/angst. Radovid has a special night planned for him and his lover, but heartache ensues in the end.

In Any Shape Or Form (Loki, E, 3k)

Lokius. Smut. Loki shifts form and now has a vagina. Mobius learns what to do with it. Gift fic.

What My Heart Just Yearns To Say (Witcher, G, 2k)

Geraskier. Geralt cares for Jaskier but can’t tell him how he feels until Jaskier forces the conversation. Kiss prompt.

OCTOBER

The Words I Could Not Say (Loki, T, 3.3k)

Lokius. MCD. Alt S2E1 ending. Loki fails to make it back to Mobius. (First chapter is sad, follow-up chapter in the works).

NOVEMBER

Let Time Pass (Loki, T, 1.6k)

Lokius. Post S2. Mobius tries to settle down after Loki frees the timeline from the loom. Years pass until one day, Loki appears.

Dream of Me (Loki, E, 2.8k)

Lokius. Post S2. Smut. Mobius thinks he’s dreaming of sleeping with Loki. Turns out he really is and he leaves behind a little something.

The Things You Do For Love (Loki, E, 2.8k)

Lokius. Smut. Set S1E4. Loki turns to desperate measures when they think Mobius no longer needs them.

DECEMBER

Need Your Discipline (Stranger Things, M, 15k)

Steddie. Spanking AU. Steve looks for discipline and finds it in the form of Eddie, but he also finds care and belonging. Prompt fill for Fandom Trumps Hate 2023.

Christmas Angel (Loki, G)

Lokius. Christmas family fluff, post S2. Loki is expecting his sixth child while also keeping the timelines alive and safe. Gift fic for All About Lokius discord server friend.

In My Arms (Stranger Things, T)

Steddie. College AU, enemies to lovers. Steve has nightmares and Eddie cuddles him to soothe them away. Prompt fill for Fandom Trumps Hate 2023.

Now I know why I wrote the most words in April because I was writing other fics at the same time as two big bang fics. Yikes.

Thanks for the tag @cha-melodius 💕

Tagging @underthebluerain @dancingwiththefae @rins-love-wins @mimisempai @pherryt @gleamingsilence @artaxlivs @definitely-not-iorveth @ialwayscomewhenyoucall @rauchendesgnu @flawney @buckybeardreams if you wanna do it.

[kayte-overmoon]

Daisy Chain - Part 5 (Finale)

Previous Part

Alpha Geralt/Omega Jaskier

Rated E

Pregnancy AU

Full tags on AO3

“I’m fine, truly.”

Everyone in the room ignores Jaskier’s insistence.

“Honestly, you’re all making such a—”

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

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

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

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

Geralt’s getting impatient. “Well?”

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

“They’re both fine,” Triss says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚘⚘⚘

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

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

But this? This he can do.

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

“But Geralt—”

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

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

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

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

“I do not strut.”

Geralt snorts.

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

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

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

Jaskier grumbles his unhappy agreement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt snorts and does as he’s asked.

⚘⚘⚘

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

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

The medical expertise, of course.

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

So, Yen keeps her distance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you like to come feel?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We?” Geralt asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When Geralt looks up, he can see why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles at them and pulls Jaskier closer.

⚘⚘⚘

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

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

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

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

Geralt loves those moments of quiet.

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

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

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

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

Yen shifts on her feet and crosses her arms.

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

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

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

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

“It’s not his magic, we don’t think.”

“We?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never.”

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

“There about.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right.”

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

“I should talk to him about this.”

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

⚘⚘⚘

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

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

“Jask?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have magic?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

Geralt notes he hasn’t yet said “no.”

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

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

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

“Such as?”

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

“Or?”

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

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

“Is there any chance he had magic?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is anyone in your family elven?”

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

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

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

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

Jaskier nods silently.

Neither of them speaks again for a good long while.

⚘⚘⚘

Over the next few days, something grows inside Geralt.

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt sees red.

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

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

“Enough!”

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

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

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

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

“But Triss—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt would be a fool to let him go.

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

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

You’re making your own rules these days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m happy for you.”

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

A twig snaps nearby and they both fall silent.

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

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

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

Those sounds are predictable, manageable.

This one makes his stomach turn in an instant.

It’s Yennefer. Yelling Geralt’s name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Previous Part

[hegorys]

Geraskier fic idea #2

What if in a universe a/b/o the witcher, the witchers were just alphas and considered sterile because they can't get pregnant people they have sex with, be they female betas, female omegas or male omegas, but some group of wizards can transform omegas in witchers and can these omega witchers get pregnant by alpha witchers? And their children are born witchers and don't have to go through all the torture that their parents had to go through to become witchers?

In this universe, the group of wizards who manage to transform omegas into witchers are not necessarily bad, they are people who reached a point where they asked themselves "instead of going through the whole process of experimenting with thousands of alpha children to get just one small percentage of alpha witcher children, since out of every 10 only 3 have a chance of surviving the transformation process, why don't we try to resolve the issue of reproduction of alpha witchers?", because if witchers could reproduce and the children were already born witchers, there would be more witchers to deal with the monsters on the continent, they would not need to go hunting alone and the chances of dying on the way decrease

Of course, the omegas that go through the transformation process are aware that if they choose to go through the process they have a high chance of dying, however, in an a/b/o universe the omegas usually suffer a lot, including suffering at the hands of alpha humans for being considered weak, a low caste in the pyramid, and risking becoming stronger and having a freer life with a chance of finding a good alpha (here alpha witchers are decent and loyal people ok, hahahaha), they would definitely choose the second option, at least I think so, ahahahah

Jaskier chooses to become an omega witcher, meets Geralt on a hunt and they both click "oh my loki I want to climb that grumpy alpha" and "holy loki look at that male omega beauty is flexible, I want him to carry my cubs ", of course, for that kind of thought to happen I think they would have to be virgins, I've never seen Geralt a virgin in any fic, hahahaha

[lucigoo]

Weekly Roundup: 12th May - 9th June

As im sure yo can see, I've been a bot (a lot) lacking in my Weekly ROundup. between a broken and dislocatted wrist (well done me) and just life in general, well I havnt done it. So here we are, I'm back <3 So, its been a few weeks. What I'm gonna do is the normal 6 recs and then add all the fics I've written so we are all up to date. Hope you all had a good FEW weeks lol. As always, recs first:

A Song of War (will set me free) - Sylcian_SPH_Legacy - Wiedźmin | The Witcher - (Geralt/Jaskier, this is one of my fav Warlord Geralt fics) Summary: "Jaskier came home one day and asked a question who changed the path of the ones he called family. Oxenfurt went to war to protect life and save hope four months later."

And Howl Your Pain Unto The Moon - Jeanblack2056 - Wiedźmin | The Witcher - (Geralt/Jaskier, I adore post-Caingorn and Jaskier at Kaer Morhen fics) Summary: After The MountainTM, Jaskier gets himself a nice new curse to wear, turning into a werewolf. He's not aware of much, but there is still something telling him to go north, go to the mountains. When Lambert meets the werewolf on his way home, and recognizes him, the witchers are up for an interesting winter.

Jaskier the disney princess and the harpies - Cao_the_dreamer - The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, this whole series is brilliant imo.) Summary: Jaskier is adopted by a fmaily of harpies, shennanigans ensue Daisy Chain - kayte_overmoon - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, Pregnant omega Jaskier and overprotective Geralt, chefs kiss) Summary:

Geralt meets a young, pregnant omega who makes him question everything he's ever known.

It would be a lot easier to leave him behind if Geralt wasn't already in love with him.

Oak & Ash - Morg47 - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own] - (The hobbit, Bilbo/Thorin, I still adore this series and this one is so good) Summary -

Long before the elves, Orome rode across the lands and purged evil from the forests he loved. Once the other races began to wake, he asked Eru for help protecting Middle Earth. Not long after, Orome found the hobbits. Deciding they were a gift from Eru himself, Orome took them in and began to teach them not only to hunt but also how to care for the lands around them. Any hobbit worth their salt knew how to drive out evil and vanquish it, just as their Valar taught them.

So really, how was Bilbo supposed to refuse a quest that would not only allow him to travel the lands that all hobbits loved but also vanquish one of the greatest evils still on Middle Earth? He was supposed to say no to cleansing forests and vanquishing darkness and seeing new trees? Not going was never an option.

The more evil they met along the way, the better.

Unpleasant Arrangements - Chrononautical - The Hobbit - (Bilbo/Thorin, Jelous Bilbo is just beautiful) Summary: The King Under the Mountain requires a consort. Bilbo is happy to help him find one. So. Very. Happy.

And now, as always, my fics, we have 5 fics and here they are: I Planted My Trees, And Watched Them Grow with You (Bilbo/Thorin, I;ve finally written the peultimate fic for the bagignshield-tober prompts by @smolestboop, I'm getting there lol) Summary: Bilbo is 141 years old, much to old for a hobbit and he feels it.

Hobbits were giving a gift by Yavanna. They know 24 hours before their time is up.

This is Bilbo's time to say goodbye to all those he loves and all who love him. Hitting Him in the Heart (Bilbo/Thorin, last weeks @flashfictionfridayofficial, plese mind the tags) Summary: Thorin hasn't recovered from the Dragon sickness, he is just able to trick everyone but his hobbit.

Bilbo takes matters in his own hands to save his dwarves and Erebor. He will save them the only way he can.

Touching me, touching you (There is nothing magic can’t do) (Sirius/Remus, for the @marauderswithpalestineproject prompt, its smutty) Summary: Remus is away with work, Sirius has had a stressful day.

Thank fully Remus as a suprise and a new way to be intimate with Sirus, even if they are on opposite sides of the world. It's not goodbye, it's not forever, it's just not right now (Sirius/Remus, for the @wolfstarbingo2024, please mind the tags) Summary: Sirius is a disaster of a man and he needs help. He refuses to get it though and Remus is bearing the brunt of that until he decides that he can't any longer. Everything has a golden hue, everything but you (Bilbo'Thorin, for this weeks FFF< again, please mind the tags) Summary: Thorin is gold sick, he is possessive and angry. Especially when he finds out his Golden One isn't beside him in the treasury where he belongs. And there we have it, I'm now all caught up, have a good week all <3

[endiness]

i wonder if when jaskier gets shot if it won't end up being a serious injury. because the show's already done the whole "jaskier gets shot but jk it's not that bad" book-esque fake out in s3. so would they really do the same thing again in s4? or would they up the stakes?

and i wonder if they do make the injury serious if it won't end up taking the place of milva being pregnant and then having a miscarriage. because while the men (and narrative) all making it very, very clear that women have the right to choose, at the same time, like. i feel like everything else related to that storyline is... kind of a mess, so i could see why the show might skip it or at least omit certain aspects of it and change things.

and one last thing: i wonder if jaskier is seriously injured if this won't be a reason to prevent him from moving on with the hansa later on? because one thing i'm really struggling with working out is how exactly the show is going to justify jaskier leaving. because i feel like he has way more of a vested, emotional interest in finding ciri and staying with geralt, especially in comparison to dandelion in the books. so i could see the show creating a situation where jaskier is eventually just literally unable to physically continue.

[thedemonofcat]

When a witcher saved Lord Pankratz and claimed the Law of Surprise, Lord Pankratz returned home to Lettenhove to find his wife was pregnant. Unwilling to give up their potential heir, they devised a plan.

They kidnapped a pregnant elf woman, whom they considered expendable. After she gave birth to a baby boy, the Pankratz family named him Julian and gave him to the witcher instead of their heir.

The witchers soon realized they didn't have the true child of surprise, but the Pankratz family couldn't escape their fate. Their true heir died despite their efforts. With nothing else to do, the witchers put Julian through the trials.

Whether because Julian was a fake child surprise or half-elf, the trials of the grasses didn’t work on him as they should have. Julian only became a half-witcher.

Nonetheless, he was required to go on the path, but Julian quickly found no enjoyment in it. Instead, he renamed himself Jaskier and became a bard.

Years later, having long ceased to consider himself a witcher, Jaskier met Geralt, who was puzzled by the fellow witcher claiming to be a bard.

[magdelanesingerin]

📖 Fic rec time! When you get this, reply with three fics that you've read and loved to pieces, then pass on to at least five other people who read fics. Let’s appreciate fic writers and their amazing stories 💖

Oh ho!

Alright, I have so many favorites, but here are some from my bookmarks. (EDT: I apparently can't stop myself. This asked for 3, I did 5. I regret nothing.) All of these happen to be Geraskier:

The Inescapable March by @oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co et al

I have a weakness for time loop fics, and this is a great one. Dark, moody, beautiful, satisfying. Can't say much more without giving it away.

The Beast of Oakhurst Pass by @yolki-palki

Love a good, grim, monstery horror story with high stakes? This one is for you. The characters are rich and complex, the setting is compelling, the story is basically flawless. So good.

spring, summer, spring by yogurtgun

Love the characterizations, the rich cultural details, the blazing hot and heart-breakingly romantic arc. Fuck. It's a goodun.

Proctor's non-series-series of Witcher fics, starting with Company.

I am consistently delighted and tickled by the way they write these characters. Hilarious, awkward, stupid, smartassy boys and their incredibly ridiculous sex. I love watching them go slowly from a casual fuck to the most sappy, romantic shit imaginable without ever becoming less absurd.

Home by @samstree

This is one of my comfort reads. I know pregnant Jaskier isn't for everyone, but this is the softest, warmest hug of a series that I could imagine, and I adore it.