The Child of Surprise

The Bombshell

Jaskier blinked. "Sorry, what was that?"

"I'm pregnant," Geralt repeated.

"...with a baby?"

Geralt drew Jaskier a withering look. "No, with a litter of kittens. Yes, with a baby—and you're the father."

Jaskier's mouth fell open. "I'm the father?"

Geralt sighed and closed his eyes. "Yes."

Jaskier felt faint all of a sudden. He grabbed the edge of the dinner table to steady himself but the restaurant seemed to spin around him of its own accord. "But—if you're pregnant, that would mean you're..."

"An Omega," Geralt confirmed, his expression hardening. "Why, have you got a problem with that?"

"What? No!" Jaskier cried. "No, I'm just...shit, if I had known that, I—"

"You would have what? You would have thought twice about coming home with me?" Geralt finished for him, his eyes flashing with anger.

A stab of annoyance cut through his shock and he glared at Geralt. "I didn't say that."

"But you were thinking it."

"I really wasn't," he shot back angrily. "Don't go putting words in my mouth, you don't know the first thing about me!"

"Umm, do you gentlemen need more time to look at the menus?"

Jaskier turned to find the waiter hovering awkwardly next to their table. He wanted to throw his overpriced wine in the waiter's face and tell him to piss off, but he managed to grit out, "Yes, we need more time to...discuss our options. We'll wave you over when we need you."

"Very good sir," the waiter mumbled before he scurried out of sight.

Jaskier turned his attention back to Geralt, whose expression was a storm of emotions. At first glance, he looked angry. But the way that his shoulders were hunched forward, like he was trying to make himself look small or invisible (a mean feat, considering his hulking stature), Jaskier realised that he wasn't angry—not entirely—he was embarrassed. And scared. Jaskier couldn't help but feel sympathy for him then. What little he knew of Geralt, he seemed like the type of person that liked—perhaps even needed—to feel in control of everything around him. He'd seen it in the way that Geralt carried himself, both in and out of the bedroom. Everything about him seemed considered—the way he spoke so carefully, the way he walked down the street. And with all that in mind, Jaskier couldn't think of anything scarier or more uncertain—more out of control—than being pregnant.

Taking a moment to compose himself, he downed the last of his meagre glass of wine before speaking again. "What I was going to say, before you jumped down my throat, was that if I'd have known you were an Omega, I'd have worn two condoms at once, just to be on the safe side. I don't care if you're an Omega, I'd still have gone home with you."

Geralt looked up at him with a surprised expression. "Really?"

"Obviously," he replied, rolling his eyes. "You're bloody gorgeous."

Geralt couldn't help but huff out a laugh at that. "Well, that's unexpected. Most people are less...understanding. I'm sure you can imagine the reaction I normally get when they find out."

"Well, I'm not most people."

"Evidently. For the record, you should never wear more than one condom at a time. It actually offers less protection than just one."

"It does?"

Geralt nodded. "Wearing two condoms at once can cause friction between them, weakening the material and increasing the chance that it'll break."