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Geralt’s childhood had been a strange one, not necessarily bad but not ideal. Growing up knowing that your own mother didn’t want you was hard, and even in his thirties Geralt could still feel the weight of it on his shoulders. He’d grown up with an unreasonable fear of rejection that left him alone and empty whenever someone tried to get too close. It was always easier to lash out and sever the ties before someone else did. He focussed on his job as a paramedic and convinced himself he didn’t need anyone else, except his loyal hound and best friend, Roach.
And it worked… until Jaskier.
Jaskier had bundled into his life when Geralt had been twenty four, a clumsy idiot that kept ending up in Geralt’s lap after accidents. They’d built up an easy rapport and Jaskier’s expressive cornflower blue eyes and winning smile had begun to haunt Geralt’s dreams. When he’d started looking forward to the calls from Lettenhove he told his boss that he couldn’t treat the young musician anymore. It wasn’t fair on either of them.
Geralt had intended to never see Jaskier again, but the bastard was persistent, beautifully persistent and Geralt had been too weak to resist. Almost a decade later they were curled up in their second house together, wedding rings shining in the light of the TV, and surrounded by crayons, glitter and stuffed animals, a slobbery bloodhound lying across his feet, snoring loudly.
My Little Pony was still playing on the TV, and Geralt could admit that he was more invested in the show that he ever thought he would be, but when your toddler refuses to watch anything else, it’s hard not to get invested. Ciri was curled up in Jaskier’s lap, snoring quietly and drooling all down his floral shirt. It was a rare night where all three of them were home for the evening, and Geralt hadn’t even been on call. Jaskier had refused to schedule a gig so they could spend time as a family and Geralt couldn’t have been more grateful. It was the home he’d always longed for as a child, two loving parents, four if you counted Yen and Triss which he knew that Ciri did.
Geralt smiled fondly as Jaskier muttered something nonsensical in his sleep, shifting so his face was pressed into Geralt’s arm. The moment was so peaceful, a snapshot in time that Geralt wanted to remember for the rest of his life; his husband and his daughter curled up together, asleep on the sofa. He was where he belonged in life, there wasn’t a shred of doubt in his mind.
He reached for his phone, careful not to jostle his sleeping husband, and flipped open the camera app. The lighting in the room wasn’t great and Jaskier’s phone camera was better, but Geralt didn’t care. He just needed to capture this moment of stillness in his otherwise hectic life. The photos came out well enough and he sent them to Vesemir, Yennefer and Triss, not bothering to think of a message. The image spoke for itself.
“G’ralt…” Jaskier mumbled, blinding reaching out for him.
Geralt chuckled under his breath and took Jaskier’s hand, carefully pressing a kiss to his husband’s temple. “I’m here, love.”
“Hand me the egg….” he slurred.
Geralt shook his head, squeezing Jaskier’s hand in his. “Why do you need an egg, Jask?”
“To fight the dragon… he wants soufflé.”
Geralt had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. It was time to carry his family to bed, they couldn’t sleep like this, no matter how perfect the moment felt. With a heavy sigh, Geralt managed to extract himself from Jaskier’s grasp, scooping up Ciri before his husband fell into the empty space that he’d vacated. Roach whined as she was moved from her favourite sleepy spot on top of Geralt’s feet, but settled for licking at Jaskier’s cheeks.
Ciri, luckily, didn’t stir. She just sniffed, her tiny hands fisting in the fabric of Geralt’s hoody. Jaskier, on the other hand, fell head first into the sofa cushions with a grunt.
“What the fuck?” he grumbled, his voice muffled. He rolled over, pouting up at Geralt and scrunching up his nose as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. The musician didn’t seem to have noticed the patch of drool on his cheek, but it only added to the adorableness of his appearance.
“I’ll be back, love… stay,” Geralt said, brushing Jaskier’s fringe from his forehead so he could leave a kiss.
“‘m not a dog….”
“Sometimes I wonder,” Geralt chuckled, ignoring Jaskier’s offended gasping noises as he left the room, scratching Roach on the head as he went past.
“Daddy?” Ciri mumbled as he lay her down on the bed.
“It’s time for bed, princess.”
“Not sleepy,” she pouted, barely able to open her eyes. “Where’s Papa?”
“I’m here, my darling girl,” Jaskier whispered as he wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist, his head pressing into the nape of his neck. “I’m here…”
“Story?” Ciri asked, emerald green eyes widening as she stared up at them, her bottom lip quivering.
Geralt sighed, pressing his fingers to his forehead, it was too late for a story, and Jaskier was in no state to tell one, but saying no would cause a tantrum that he would rather avoid.
“In the morning, sweetheart,” Jaskier mumbled. “Papa needs to sleep, but you’ll have two stories tomorrow night.”
Ciri pouted. “Lucky Lion?”
“Yes, I’ll read you Lucky Lion, but it’s time to sleep now,” Jaskier mumbled, his own words slurred and thick with sleep.
Geralt could hardly breathe, not wanting to interrupt them. It was difficult to put the clumsy idiot he’d met ten years ago, together with this amazing father before him. They’d both grown so much, bringing out the best in each other as they learned how to become a real family. It warmed Geralt’s heart.
He pressed a kiss to Ciri’s forehead and pulled her duvet up to her chin. “Goodnight, Ciri.”
“Night, Daddy, Papa…”
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Jaskier murmured and pulled Geralt towards the doorway. “Time for bed, my love.”
Geralt hummed, flicking off Ciri’s bedroom light and gently closing the door behind them. Once they were in the corridor, he cupped Jaskier’s cheek and pulled his husband into a soft kiss, thankful for every moment he got to spend by Jaskier’s side.
Jaskier giggled, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s neck. “What was that for, my darling?”
“I love you,” Geralt said simply.
His husband smiled brightly, pressing another chaste kiss to Geralt’s lips and rubbing their noses together. “I love you too, dear heart.”