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Adoption hadn’t been an easy process, what with Geralt’s job taking him all over the Continent with dangerous contracts that Jaskier still wasn’t entirely sure on the details of. All he knew was that sometimes his husband came back with stitches from stab wounds, or he’d get a call from the hospital telling him his love had been shot. It was bloody terrifying, not knowing if or when Geralt would return to him, but he knew he could never tear his husband away from his work. Geralt loved his job, and he was good at it… apparently; whatever it really was.
But after two years of marriage, they’d both been ready for a child. Geralt was a natural protector, and Jaskier… Well, okay maybe Jaskier wasn’t entirely sure, but the more Geralt described the life they could have with a child, the more he could see it. It was like a fairy tale, and just the image of his husband with their baby in his arms, a big strong man being so… tender.
Jaskier was smitten.
And eventually their dreams had come true. It was Christmas Eve and they’d just picked up their little girl. She wasn’t a newborn, at four months old she was sturdier and slightly less terrifying, but still Jaskier couldn’t help but stare at her.
There were messy tufts of white blonde hair covering her head, and she was watching the fairy lights on the christmas tree with wide emerald eyes. The room was dark except from the glimmering lights, bouncing off the tinsel and baubles, and Ciri was entranced by it as Geralt rocked her gently in his lap.
It was everything Jaskier had imagined it to be… more so - he’d never expected to love her as much as he did. He was sure that there was no room left in his heart, so consumed by love for his husband, but the moment he laid eyes on her he knew he was a changed man. There wasn’t a single thing he wouldn’t do for her. Hell, he would use Geralt as a shield if it meant she’d be safe.
But he still hadn’t managed to hold her. She was just so small, fragile… god, he was bound to fuck it up. How on earth was he supposed to hold a baby? All his friends had mentioned floppy heads or something, but Ciri seemed to be supporting hers just fine.
Jesus Christ, he didn’t have a clue how to be a father, but he would learn. For her, he would learn.
Beneath the tree was a soft squishy present, wrapped in brightly coloured paper. Getting it had been a gamble, and Jaskier had been sure it would jinx their chance of succeeding in the adoption process. Luckily, Geralt had talked him down from his panic and they’d left the store with a giant lion toy for their potential child.
Tomorrow morning they would help Ciri unwrap it, her first Christmas present- her first Christmas.
“Holy fuck, Geralt,” he whispered, staring at the giggling baby. “We’re parents.”
Geralt raised his eyebrow and smirked, shuffling along the sofa so Jaskier could join them.
“But like… we’re really parents,” Jaskier whined as he flopped down beside his husband. “You’re Santa right? I can be Mr Claus, the charming husband.”
“We did it,” came the whispered reply as Ciri wrapped her hand around Geralt’s finger.
“We did,” Jaskier agreed, pressing a kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Merry Christmas, darling.”