(mpreg, pre-relationship geraskier, mutual pining, pregnant jaskier, vague mpreg setting, roach is also mom, baby horse, horse trivia, 1.5k, read on ao3)Â
Jaskier pets the newborn foal’s still-damp mane and grins to himself. The tiny horse—Little Roachie, he decides—is laying on the ground, surrounded by soft hay and dozing peacefully. He deserves it after the ordeal—well, Jaskier believes it counts as one. The foaling almost gave him heart palpitations, but Geralt says everything went just as planned and both Roach and the baby are safe and sound.
And they are, finally, when the entire day has passed and the moon is high in the sky.
The witcher himself is feeding the mare their last apple. If the doting was bad before, it has definitely gotten worse since she became a mom. It’s not like anyone could fault Geralt, Jaskier reckons. Although the sight of the almighty White Wolf indulging his horse is way too precious, not that Jaskier will ever say it to his face. As much as he loves to see Geralt embarrassed, it might be unwise to upset his friend and get left in the middle of this backwater town in his current conditions.
Jaskier cradles the bump that is his stomach and feels his baby peacefully asleep too. Despite the barn being floored with thick hay, the sitting position is growing uncomfortable with everything weighing down on his midriff, and it won’t be long until his back starts aching again.
The foal jerks in his sleep, and Jaskier completely forgets about himself.
“Shh, it’s all right. Just sleep, darling. You must really need it if you’re so tiny. Look at how tiny you are.” His hand travels down to its leg and then the hoof. The hoof wall feels soft, or at least, less hard than what one would imagine for an adult horse. A soft gasp escapes his lips as his fingers reach the bottom. “Oh, Geralt! Come and see!”
The witcher hums absently as Jaskier picks out the straws and dirt obscuring his view and cradles the newborn foal’s hoof in his palm. There’s a layer of padding covering the sole. It’s … kind of spongy, and moist to the touch.
“Fascinating,” Jaskier muses as he pokes and prods the soft tissue, amazed at the weird texture and irregular shapes. When he looks up, Geralt is crouched beside him, leaving Roach to chew on the last of her treat.
“Newborns have those,” he explains.
“Will it hurt him when I touch it?”
“I don’t think so.” Geralt’s gaze falls on the small baby, the corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. “The cushions develop during the last term of pregnancy. It protects the mother from all the kicking, and later during the birth. They’ll wear off as soon as he learns to stand.”
“Wow,” Jaskier croons at the foal, “you are such a gentle baby, aren’t you? Know to protect your mum, huh?”
His arm tightens around his own expanding waistline. The bump has gotten so big in the last few weeks Jaskier still gets taken aback every time he walks in front of a mirror. Looking down on it, the worry that’s been churning in his stomach resurfaces, the dread rising inexplicably. Jaskier hates to admit it, but he’s so, so nervous about what comes after. Sure, he looks forward to meeting his child, but just the thought of pushing a person out of his body is enough to send a shudder down his spine.
Jaskier chews on his lips. The silence hangs in the barn.
It’s Geralt who breaks it first. He sits down next to Jaskier gradually and crosses his legs, making sure the sleeping foal is still in sight.
“All babies are as gentle, Jaskier.” Golden amber eyes meet Jaskier’s, and they are filled with warmth and unvoiced understanding. “You never needed to worry for Roach.”
“But anything could have happened. She’s never had a baby before and we didn’t even notice for so long. The whole thing just … came out of nowhere. If something had gone wrong—”
“Nothing did,” Geralt says, more firmly this time. “I wouldn’t have let anything happen to her. I was here to make sure of it.”
Looking at the sincerity on the witcher’s face, Jaskier knows neither of them is talking about Roach anymore, and he can’t resist the upturn of his lips. It is true that Geralt did everything he could for Roach, setting her up at this farm and making sure she’ll be cared for after. Even when the mare got anxious the past two days, Geralt has been nothing but patient with her.
“Besides,” Geralt adds, tilting his head, “She’s strong. She can get through anything for her baby.”
A lump suddenly forms in Jaskier’s throat. His eyes prickle but he won’t let the tears fall. Not again. Even pregnant, it would be too mortifying for him to cry for what must be the one-hundredth time this week, and he won’t let Geralt make fun—
A kick lands on his bladder and oh boy it hurts. Jaskier chokes out a breath and curls into himself. “It seems—ahh, this one is bad—it seems that my baby could use some tips from Little Roachie here.”
“You can’t compare human babies to horses, Jask,” Geralt chuckles but rests his hand over the top of the bump and starts rubbing little circles, soothing the tiny but anxious person within. As always, it does the trick and the kicking gradually calms down. Jaskier isn’t sure if he should be jealous of this apparent superpower of Geralt’s or just glad he’s here. “Also, Little Roachie? Really?”
The warmth of Geralt’s palm is nice, seeping through the thin tunic and into Jaskier’s taut skin underneath. It takes a second for him to respond, “Are you not naming him Roach?”
“Why would I name him Roach?”
“Because you name all your horses Roach?”
“But, Jask, he’s Roach’s baby. It’ll be confusing.”
Jaskier blinks, incredulous.
“That,” he pauses, “is confusing?”
“Yes,” Geralt answers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Six mares in a row having the same name was never a problem, but mother and son is where you draw the line.” Jaskier shakes his head. “Well, I’m glad there is a line somewhere.”
Jaskier lets out a string of giggles, bending backward and almost hitting the wall. When he finally ceases to find the witcher’s logic so amusing, Roach herself has sauntered near them. She’s probably heard her name and also wants in on all the fun.
The mare reaches down and headbutts Jaskier on his chest, almost touching his stomach. Geralt grows tense and ready to block her. It’d be sweet of him if the overprotectiveness isn’t so unnecessary.
“Oh, relax! Roach and I are the bestest of friends now.” Her muzzle touches Jaskier’s palm. “Motherhood has softened her. Look!”
“Hmm.”
He coos to Roach for a while until her attention returns to the once again unnamed foal. Jaskier finds himself completely knackered and ready to turn in. He yawns just in time.
“What a day, huh? Well, I don’t know about you but I could fall asleep in the next five minutes.”
“Oh.”
Geralt stands first to pull Jaskier up with steady hands, the movement so effortless it even makes Jaskier feel less bloated and sluggish.
“Will you—” Jaskier adjusts the hem of his tunic. “Will you stay with me? Like yesterday. It’s—I, um, I’ve been having trouble with all the kicking, as you know, and last night was the first time I got any rest in weeks.”
Geralt stares, his golden amber blown wide.
“You don’t have to, I mean,” Jaskier adds too quickly. “You help. Like just now, and you’ve been helping me for the past few months, even with everything going on with Roach. I don’t want to burden you further, but I just … I think the baby likes it a little better when you are there.”
And Jaskier likes it a lot better.
That part he can’t say though.
“Of course,” Geralt says, and a weight Jaskier didn’t know was carrying lifts off of his chest. “If it’s more comfortable for you.”
“Right. It is.”
“And, Jask … I know I might be overstepping. The baby is only yours after all.” Geralt swallows nervously, if witchers can get nervous talking to a simple bard. A simple bard who never expected to be pregnant and is terrified. “But if you need me, I can stay with you. Through everything, this … and after, as long as you need me.”
The lump returns. Jaskier meets Geralt’s gaze in earnest and all he can see is the devotion, the safety. Because that’s what Geralt is, his best friend and protector. The world may disagree, but Jaskier knows better from walking by his side for so many years, from never having been abandoned despite all the threats. He knows from the way Geralt leads him back inside with a hand on the small of his back and a smile in those amber eyes.
When the baby moves again, Jaskier can’t wait to drag Geralt’s hand over his stomach. Geralt looks awestruck, like he’s watching a miracle unfold before his eyes when it’s no more than a little person reacting to his touch.
“I think,” Jaskier says. “I think we’ll be just fine.”
“Of course. Both of you will.”
And for the first time, Jaskier might start believing it.
---
I leaned that thing about baby horsies in this youtube video. Please feel free to correct me if I got some facts wrong. I love horse trivia! <3Â
Jaskier doesn’t remember passing out until the world comes back into focus.
For a moment, the crowded tavern gets swallowed into a silent void, and then there’s nothing. The dark spots recede slowly, so much so that Jaskier has the urge to shake them away. The pain at the back of his head is what brings him back to reality, and panic seizes him.
His elbow slams into the wooden floor as he tries to cradle his rounded belly—a subconscious reaction when anything happens these days. Being heavily pregnant and yet still traveling the path means he’s constantly worried about the little one in there. Under his palm, his belly ripples steadily as always. Jaskier sighs with relief.
He finds his lute not far from where he fell and reaches for it.
“Easy, son.” A gentle voice stops him and catches him by the forearm. “You gave us quite a scare.”
Now that he notices, the whole tavern’s eyes are on him. The stage is low enough for all patrons to gather in a half-circle and look at him with varying degrees of worry. Right in front of everyone is the owner of the establishment, Eva, a woman with the warmest smile and most beautiful lines around her eyes.
“Hey there,” Jaskier clears his throat. “So many…lovely people.”
Eva turns to hold back the customers, something about having nothing to see here and giving the bard some air. They linger, staring quizzically. Seeing Jaskier play the lute with his rounded belly was strange enough, not to mention the fact that he fainted in the middle of a ballad. Jaskier can’t blame them, really, but Eva doesn’t relent until Jaskier has the room to sit up and breathe.
“You alright?” Her eyes are back on Jaskier and full of patience.
“Well, she’s okay.” Just to be sure, Jaskier puts both his hands flush on the bump of his stomach and feels for another moment. He manages a smile, although it might look more like a grimace. “I’m okay.”
Eva doesn’t comment on how unconvincing Jaskier sounds, only showing her palms to pull him up. Stars reappear in his vision and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to ride out the throbbing ache deep in his skull.
“My lute,” Jaskier protests as she steers him away from the stage.
“I’ll come back for it.”
Gently, slowly, she guides Jaskier back to his room and places him on the soft bed. The dull ache behind his eyes worsens. Now that he thinks about it, it’s been pounding on his nerves since the morning, and performing for hours only made it worse.
“You look like you could use some rest, son. Get in bed while I get your fancy lute, alright?”
Jaskier barely has the strength to nod before kicking off his shoes and burrowing under the cover. The door squeaks shut, and immediately he drifts off, in pain and shuddering. It feels like an eternity has passed when Eva comes back and props the lute next to the door, but it couldn’t have been more than a minute.
“You are too good to me,” Jaskier says, ready to sink into oblivion once again, but he senses the mattress dip and the next thing he knows, cool, soothing fingers are on his forehead.
Eva has been nothing but kind in the past few days, making sure he can earn his keep without any trouble. Her touch is so nice that Jaskier can’t help but lean into it.
“You are running a fever. Might have a concussion too,” Eva berates without heat, tsking when feeling the cold sweat on Jaskier’s hairline. “Why did your husband let you perform out there like this?”
If only Geralt was his husband.
Even in a haze, Jaskier is alert enough not to say that out loud. Denying is a moot point; everyone they’ve passed in the past few months has looked at Jaskier’s midriff and drawn their conclusions. It’s only logical, if the combination of witcher and bard isn’t a bit strange.
“It’s not his fault, my dear lady.” Jaskier can’t help but defend his witcher. Geralt has been taking care of him the best he can, but coin has been tight with the winter coming. All contracts count at this point, so Geralt is away most of the time. “A bard needs his music to thrive, even with a little one coming. Besides, she likes it when I sing.”
“She?”
“Just a hunch.” Jaskier smooths down the fabric over his taut skin and feels a tiny kick. “There’s always half a chance I’m wrong, but…she would be nice.”
“My daughter just had her baby girl last year,” Eva says with a warm gleam in her eyes. “I was with her the whole time. Even though she’s a parent herself, she’s still my little girl, you know? I thought…well I thought having her family with her when the baby came would be good. And it was. A mother’s touch was just what she needed.”
Jaskier feels his lips quirk up. “She’s lucky. Both of them.”
“You? You have your witcher, little poet, but what about your mother? You family?”
A pang of regret washes over Jaskier. He blinks, but the gentle adoring image of Eva sitting by his bed and stroking his hair can never overlap with his own mother. When was the last time any mention of Mother brought Jaskier any trace of happiness? He would have been too young to remember.
“The road is my family, my lady.” Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat, and Eva stays silent for a while.
“I see,” she answers eventually. The crinkle around her eyes drops a little in sympathy. “Sometimes, we find our home in the most unexpected places. Like you did, with your witcher.”
Jaskier wishes he could believe that. “We are not—”
“I’ve heard both of you deny it, but—” Eva shakes her head with affection. “The fact is too obvious. The way he looks at you. I hate to think how he’s going to be when he comes back to find you like this. That one, he looks like he could take on the world for you. And the child.”
Jaskier’s breath hitches, not daring to believe Eva’s words. The yearning in his chest grows, taking root deeply around his lungs despite how much he fights against it. When he found out he was pregnant, Jaskier was sure that would be what it takes. Geralt would leave and he would be alone, and the ache that’s seeped into his every breath could fade at last.
And yet, here they are.
“Geralt is not the baby’s…” he starts, but doesn’t know how to finish. “He believes we are his responsibility, but that’s just him. He doesn’t really want us. Not like that.”
“Have you asked him?”
The prospect sends a shudder down Jaskier’s spine. The sickness settles in his stomach, and his head grows drowsy with how soft the pillow is.
“I can’t.”
A soft smile hangs by Eva’s lips. “Think about it. I don’t know you that well, but maybe, there’s a chance your witcher’s heart is not as fragile as you believe.”
Jaskier muses the idea, but all his worries are smoothed over when Eva continues to run her fingers through the curls at his forehead and softly tells him about everything and nothing.
“Sleep, darling. Don’t you fret. I’ll be here.”
Jaskier feels so safe in the presence of Eva and her reassuring words. He never realized that it’s a kind of longing that he lacked.
“Thanks, mom,” Jaskier murmurs. Curling into himself, he falls asleep feeling painfully young, and dreams of the cold mansion in Lettenhove.
 ~~~
When Jaskier wakes up, it is to a crushing wave of nausea. Rolling out of bed takes everything he has, and he lands on both knees, just in time to reach the chamber pot. Emptying the content in his stomach hurts more every time. He’s forgotten how miserable it is since the morning sickness stopped months ago.
The hands that catch him by the shoulders are too large and too strong to be Eva, and Jaskier lets out a sob at the sight of Geralt. Shaking with tears, Jaskier sits back on his heels while callused hands rub small circles into his back.
“You are back.”
“I shouldn’t have gone.” Geralt’s brows knit together, and it looks like he hasn’t had a chance to clean up since the hunt. His hair is a mess, but luckily there are no injuries. “Eva told me everything. How do you feel?”
“Like shit.” Jaskier breathes through the spasms in his stomach. The frown on Geralt’s face deepens, and Jaskier curses himself silently. Geralt is blaming himself, even though there’s no way he could have known. Jaskier loves and hates his witcher for it. He amends softly, “just…take me back to bed, will you?”
Pressing the back of his hand to Jaskier’s forehead for a second, Geralt’s shoulders seem to slack a little. “Here, let me.”
Carefully, Geralt loops his arms behind Jaskier’s back and under his knees, and lifts him off of the hard floor. After making sure Jaskier is comfortably propped up against the pillows, Geralt busies himself with taking out the sick and bringing some water back into their room. The shuffling noise grounds Jaskier as he rests his head against the headboard. The baby is quiet, thankfully.
“Geralt, darling.” Jaskier smiles despite how faint he feels. “Stop fussing and sit with me?”
With a cup of water and a clean washcloth in hand, Geralt settles next to Jaskier, their thighs pressed together. Jaskier leans into the solid weight of his witcher despite the sweat already soaking through his shirt.
“Drink this? And we can change your clothes.”
The water soothes the burn in Jaskier’s throat and he finishes all of it in a heartbeat. With Geralt’s help, Jaskier pulls off the shirt that is currently sticking to his back, and flinches when the washcloth touches his skin, cold and damp.
“Sorry,” Geralt whispers, wiping away the sweat and tears stains on Jaskier’s cheeks before moving to his neck. It’s almost too much on his fevered skin and Jaskier lets out an unhappy noise. “Just a moment. You’ll feel better.”
Jaskier feels exposed with his shirt gone and his pregnant belly on full display. A draft comes in through the window and raises goosebumps all over him. The quick exchange between hot and cold adds to the discomfort, and Jaskier lets out a distressed hum. The next thing he knows, his body is seeking out whatever comfort it instinctively knows. Draped over Geralt’s shoulder, Jaskier inhales the familiar scent of horse and leather and the ache in his bones eases, if only by a little.
Geralt supports Jaskier’s weight without a moment of wavering and keeps on pressing the cloth to the nape of his neck to bring down the heat. It’s not like Geralt, but he’s started to ramble on about their plans. Geralt does this when Jaskier has doubts. He lays out their plan down to every detail and lets the stream of words wash over Jaskier.
“Oxenfurt is only a week away. We can stop here for a few days so you can recover. I know you feel awful but we can’t use any strong medicine, not now.” Geralt puts the cloth away so he can rest his palm on the side of Jaskier’s round belly, his thumb absently tracing the stretch marks there. “It’ll all be okay when we get there. You wrote to the university, right? So you know they will set up a place for the two of you. The healers are the best. Essi will be there too.”
“Yes,” Jaskier says, “Essi.”
“Mm-hmm. She makes everything better, you said. The little one will have more than one bard to sing her to sleep. You can both write her so many lullabies. Our baby will be loved dearly, Jask—”
Geralt takes in a breath, and Jaskier freezes too. The slip reveals too much. Only the gods know how many times Jaskier has fantasized about his future like this. It’d be perfect, Geralt and him, and their child. He snaps out of the dream every time, just like he is forcing himself to do now.
“I didn’t mean…” Geralt pulls back with a flash of panic in his eyes. “Your baby, Jaskier, of course. I—that’s not what I meant—”
“What are you doing?”
The panic in golden eyes morphs into confusion. “I’m…telling you it’s okay. You don’t need to worry that I will cross the line. I promised to be there however you need me, and I will. Please, Jask.”
“No.” Jaskier closes his eyes for a second. “What are you doing here with me, Geralt? What are we doing?”
Geralt tilts his head, silver strands of hair falling next to his eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“You are here now,” Jaskier sighs, eyeing at his belly, “and you’ll stay until she comes out.”
“Of course.”
“But what then? What happens after?”
If there’s a sound when a heart breaks, Jaskier imagines it would be the silence that’s filling this inn room right now. The question has been at the tip of his tongue for longer than he wants to admit, and now… Perhaps it’s the fever. Jaskier has always been particularly brave when he’s not thinking straight.
Geralt takes some time before answering, and when he does, there’s something hopeful in his eyes. “I’d be involved however you wish me to be, but.”
“But?”
Jaskier’s heart flutters. Heat spreads from his cheeks to the shell of his ears in anticipation. If Geralt still wants to be with them even after the birth, if their lives are still meant to be together, maybe Jaskier can still keep a piece of his wildest dream.
“I’d like to raise the baby with you,” Geralt speaks softly, as if he’d break something if his voice got any louder. “Jaskier, I never knew I could ever feel like this, not until that day, by some miracle, you told me that you were bringing a child into our lives. I never stopped hoping since then. Having you is already a blessing I don’t deserve, and now… I’d like for us to raise her as our child, if that’s what you want too.”
Jaskier stares, congestion forming in his nose. Suddenly all that fills his mind is Geralt, with their daughter on his hip; Geralt, placing her on Roach’s back and making sure the mare is gentle with her; Geralt, happy and content by their side as the seasons pass, always. He doesn’t know how to respond with the joy and hope overwhelming him.
A kick lands on Geralt’s palm and Jaskier looks down by instinct, holding onto the spot by overlapping their hands. Tears hit his wrist, and Jaskier has to blink his vision clear.
“You don’t even know whose child I’m carrying, and you—” A whimper chokes in his throat. “And you claim to be the undeserving one.”
“Oh, Jaskier.” Geralt breathes his name like a prayer. “It’s your baby, don’t you see? How can I not love her when she’s a part of you?”
Jaskier’s forehead rests on Geralt’s collarbone, the two of them rocking back and forth slowly until the turmoil raging inside Jaskeir’s mind calms down. In the end, the answer is every so clear.
“I’d like that,” he sniffles. “Gods, Geralt, you can’t just say that and believe there’s any chance I’d refuse. I want it. You. I want you with us.”
When Jaskier looks up, Geralt is practically melting at the answer. The tiny smile on his lips is more blinding than the sun. Somehow, Jaskier senses his heart being mended back together, all the cracks and bruises healed by the way Geralt wipes away his tear tracks.
“You have me.”
And the rest doesn’t matter.
 ~~~
The day stretches on, fading in and out of focus. Jaskier spends hours dozing on his side, now in Geralt’s sleep shirt. They still call it Geralt’s sleep shirt even though Jaskier is the only one wearing it. The tunic is worn and smooth, buttery under the touch. When Jaskier grows restless at night, oversensitive like an exposed nerve, it’s the only thing he can bear on his skin.
His fever breaks after a particularly sweet dream, a vague image of a clear blue sky above the sea and three sets of footsteps on the beach, one of them a lot smaller than the other two.
Geralt’s hand returns to Jaskier’s belly as he blinks away the sleep haze, a solid anchor for both him and the baby. Jaskier links their fingers together, smiling blearily.
“Eva.”
“Hmm?” Geralt raises an eyebrow.
Jaskier squeezes his hand. “Eva, if it’s a girl.”
“If? I thought you had a hunch.”
“I could be wrong.”
“I’ll quote that the next time you’re being stubborn.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Geralt’s eyes crinkle at Jaskier’s pout, and he relents. “It’s a lovely name, but why?”
Jaskier burrows into Geralt’s neck and lets their baby be surrounded by the two of them. Safe and sound.
