#jeraskier

look what love has done to me

“Ro! Get back here,” Tommy sighs around the hair tie being held between his teeth. She grips the brush she’d managed to snag from his hands tighter and bolts through her and Robbie’s bedroom door, into the hallway. She giggles maniacally when she is quickly scooped up by Evan and tossed into the air. He takes the brush from her before setting her back down to zoom off again.

Tommy groans as he pushes himself up to his feet, his swollen ankles aching in protest of the weight being put on them. “Might as well just leave the mane free,” Evan laughs, handing Tommy the brush back. Tommy pouts and tosses it and the hair tie on their dresser in defeat. “You know getting her to leave her hair up is impossible.” 

“Yeah well, trying to peacefully wash cake out of the mane tonight is going to be equally as impossible.”

Evan grinned and stepped as close as Tommy’s rounded belly would allow, leaning forward the rest of the way to press his lips to Tommy’s. “Good thing you're not the one who needs to worry about bath time then.” He brings his hands up to either side of the bump, rubbing circles into it like Tommy has expressed he likes. “All you need to worry about is enjoying today with everyone, and resting once it’s over. Okay?” 

Tommy rolls his eyes, trying his damnedest to sell his annoyance… but how can he when Evan is smiling at him like this– doting on him like this. He rests his forehead against Evan’s and sighs dramatically. “Fine…” He smiles and steals another kiss. 

Happy Little Bluebirds

Blue skies and a cool breeze was on the forecast for the day. So Buck packs them a lunch and one of Dannie’s book bags full of toys and they walk to the park just outside of their neighborhood. He sits on a bench with the other parents and watches her run around, happily playing with the other children, and he sighs. His life is so full. A husband who adores him– whom he adores in return– a beautiful, healthy, lively daughter, a job he loves, an amazing family and friends who mean the world to him… He feels complete.

He feels complete. 

Why does that feel wrong? He sighs…

“Daddy, daddy!” Dannie comes off the slide like a rocket and beelines straight towards him, pulling him from his thoughts. He shakes them away and replaces them with a big warm smile that comes so easily for his little girl. “I need water,” she gasps dramatically, slightly out of breath and sweaty from playing. That gets a startled laugh from Buck, since she is very much her Papa’s daughter and attests drinking water at all costs– until he has to step in and insist. But he isn’t going to argue with her if she's asking, so he goes in the bag and gets her a bottle. She climbs up on the bench beside him, leaning into his side and kicking her little feet as she takes a big sip. “Did you know our bodies are about sixty percent water?” She looks up at him with her big blue eyes and waits for his response.

“R- Really?” he laughs. “And– And where did you learn that?” 

“Sera told me,” Dannie replies, nonchalantly, and before Buck can ask who Sera is, she takes another sip, jumps down from the bench, and takes off back to the playground. 

rejected

The sun is shining as the uber makes its way down the final stretch of road before reaching their destination. It’s such a beautiful day out and Buck can’t help but feel like the weather is not fitting for the occasion. The car finally stops outside a two story house; Buck stares up into the corner window Sal says belongs to Tommy. “I figured he’d be in his chair,” Sal sighs, looking up at the window, too. “He must be lying down.” 

Buck gets out of the car, and follows Sal up towards the front door where Sal’s wife, and Lucy are waiting for them. They both look so forlorn, and hesitant to speak. Sal shifts, his demeanor souring as if he knows without words, while Buck is left in the dark. “Is— is something wrong?” 

“He was barely able to get back into bed yesterday. We had to practically carry him,” Gina sighs, and is talking more to Sal than Buck, as she gestures between her and Lucy. Then she turns to Buck, her hazel eyes red rimmed and brimming with more tears. “We’re just really glad you came.” 

“Of course,” Buck says, and doesn’t add how he almost didn’t.

He doesn’t mention how it had taken every ounce of restraint he had to not chase after Tommy that night when he sent him away. He doesn’t say how he spent the first few weeks leaving his phone at home while he worked to keep from caving to the temptation to call and apologize. He doesn’t admit how after news of Tommy moving to Virginia finally reached the 118 he was actually relieved by the thought of no inconvenient run-ins on jobs. 

He doesn’t explain how he had only just got to work to find Eddie and Ravi standing in the locker room, watching something he couldn’t see until he joined them. It was Bobby, Hen and Chimney; they were talking to a fourth person whose back was to the locker. It wasn’t until he snapped his head around— after Chimney had looked over acknowledging Buck’s arrival— that Buck recognized who it was. 

Sal. 

Tommy’s friend. Tommy’s best friend, in fact. From Virginia… where Tommy had gone…

He looked rough. His eyes had dark circles under them and his mouth was pulled into a deep frown. Buck felt lightheaded from how many scenarios for why the man would be here ran through his mind— they all halted when he realized Sal was walking toward him. Shit. The others filed in line behind him, but were in no way trying to stop him; that only made Buck fears take off.

Hopes & Fears

He had hoped he could make his way down the hall past Evan’s room undetected. No such luck, of course, as Evan calls out his name the moment he passes the door. He sucks in a deep breath and tries to make his pinched up face relax so Evan won’t sense anything is wrong, but the moment he opens the door and leans in a sharp pain shoots up his spine. He hisses and Evan nearly flies out of the bed towards him. 

“What are you doing?!” Tommy gasps, grabbing Evan by the arms, just as his still very weak legs start to wobble, when he reaches the door. “Are you crazy?!” He pulls Evan’s arm around his shoulder, and guides him back inside, with Evan not even trying to fight it… however once they reach the bed Evan doesn’t release his arm. “Evan… what–”

“Lay down,” Evan says, so casually, like it's such a normal request.

“What?” 

“C- Come on, there is plenty of room, just– just lay down…” Evan tugs on his arm gently, and Tommy isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

 “Evan… I’m not laying in your bed!”

“And why not?”

The echoes of similar lines play in his head and he sighs. “Because it’s your bed, Evan. I have a bed.”

“And your bed clearly has it out for you… because I hear you up pacing every night.” Tommy doesn’t agree– he doesn’t deny… “You slept like a baby when you fell asleep in here the other night. I just want you to get a good night's sleep. We can sleep together and it not mean anything…”

Kinley Beans

Tommy is not impressed. 

He wasn’t impressed with the SUV’s with a third row, or the minivans… He isn’t sure if Evan was joking about the station wagon or not… but he was not impressed with that either. But this– This… is borderlining unforgivable. 

He scowls at Howie for making the suggestion that piqued Evan’s interest, crossing his arms tight over his chest as they wait for them to bring out the passenger van– no, bus… the vehicle they are going to get is a whole bus… or close enough anyway. It comes into view and– dear god its even worse than he imagined– its fucking bright red.

“Oh wow!” Chimney explains with a big cheesy grin. “It looks like a fire truck! You guys could get the 118 painted on the side.”

Tommy feels his lip trembling at that idea– he sucks in a shaky breath, which immediately alerts Evan of his quickly dampening mood on the situation. “Sweetheart–”

“I don't want to drive a firetruck, Evan…” 

“Hey, you– you won’t! We don’t even have to look at this one, okay…” Even through the tears filling his eyes he can see Evan frantically waving off the salesman to take the van away. “We’ll look at a different color, or– or style; whatever you want… Okay?”

“Okay…” Tommy sniffles, relieved once the red bus was out of sight.

(end of 9-1-1 fics)

The New Guard

Joe is at the back door; his bare foot is tapping impatiently against the cold tile floor, and his arms are crossed over his chest, resting on top of his bump. He is staring out at the shed in the far corner of the backyard— more like scowling at it. Because how dare Nicky forbid him from entering. They are married! He is with child!? What if—

“I can’t hear you thinking, Yusuf…” Booker says. He is stretched out on a lounge chair, his shades hiding his eyes, with a mock tone to his voice. Joe slowly turns to glare at him, and Booker takes a sip from his glass of whiskey before setting it back down on the side table and folding his arms behind his head. “Let the man have a hobby… you have your art.” 

“My art does not take me away from him for hours at a time!” Joe scoffs. He waves his hand frantically towards the shed. “He— he is just out there hiding from me!” With that his pout deepens and his lip trembles… he doesn’t even care.

Booker sighs and tips his head up towards the sky, shaking it. Joe ignores the dramatics and keeps his attention focused on the shed of betrayal and secrets and— “He isn’t hiding from you,” Booker finally says, “although I would not blame him if he was.” The last bit is mumbled and Joe will give him hell for it… later. 

“Then he is hiding something or he wouldn’t have told me not to come out there!” 

Booker is quiet. Far to exposingly quiet and Joe gasps, fiending scandalism. “You—” he snarls, turning towards Booker and pointing an accusing finger at him. “You know what he’s doing!” Booker doesn’t answer— he snickers. The bastard! “You better tell me, Sebastian le Livre! Or so help me— I will beat you to death with my bare hands.” 

“Oooo… terrifying!” Booker dares to laugh while taking another sip of his whiskey. Joe should have never given him his good bottle! The traitor. 

The moment is interrupted by Nile, returning with Brutus from a run. She comes in from the back gate, crosses the yard toward the shed, and knocks on the door— Joe gasps in double betrayal as it is opened and they are both let inside. “B- B- But…” he feels tears rushing to his eyes, and knows there’s no way to leave without them being seen by Booker. He doesn’t even care… He just spins on his heels and rushes back into the house. 

“Joe… come on,” he hears Booker call after him, but ignores it and quickly closes the door to their bedroom behind him. 

Not even five minutes pass before the door cracks open and Nicky’s voice softly calls his name. Joe ignores him too, squeezing his eyes closed, pushing more tears out to frustratingly roll down his face— exposing his overreaction. He knows he was doing just that— overreacting— and Booker was right about everything he had said… which only makes more tears fall and to top it off a shaky sob comes with them before he can wrangle it back down. 

“Tesoro…” Nicky gasps, and rushes over to the bed. He sits down beside Joe and runs a hand through his curls. “Why are you so upset?”

Joe doesn’t even know how to answer that— because is he really just upset… about being upset? Is it more than that? Is it less? That only makes more tears come. “I’m such a mess, Nicoló… I’m so sorry…” 

“Shh…” Nicky leans down to press a kiss to Joe’s forehead. “You are not a mess…” 

“I am. I— I thought you were hiding from me… that you— you needed space from me…”

“Joe—”

“But, look at me! Look at how— how ridiculous I am being! ” That only makes him cry harder… as well. “No wonder you need to get away from me…” 

“Yusuf… I have not been getting away from you,” Nicky says softly, swiping his thumb under Joe’s eye to catch the new rush of tears. “Not once, in an entire millennia, have I ever wanted to be anywhere but right by your side. That hasn’t changed now… it never will…” 

Joe finally lifts his eyes to Nicky’s; he blinks and leans into Nicky’s touch. “T- Then why am I not allowed in the shed…” he asks. 

“Amore mio… is that what all this is about?” Joe nods despite the embarrassment of admitting so. Nicky smiles, and runs a hand down Joe’s arm to his hand, linking their fingers and resting them together on Joe’s belly. “You are not allowed in the shed, because you can not see your surprise just yet.” 

“My… what?” 

“Mhmm,” Nicky hums, rubbing his thumb over the curve of the bump, where their daughter just pushed out at their hands. 

“Oh…” Joe says quietly, letting this new information sit for a moment before perking up… now that he knows he isn’t at risk of losing his soulmate over his pregnant hormonal outburst. “Well, can you give me a—”

Nicky doesn’t let him finish. He quickly silences him with a kiss. “No hints, no questions… you will see it soon.” 

Portamis Mpreg

Aramis woke up that morning, and he just knew. 

Be it the medic in him— or that it was his body— so of course he would notice the first signs of change. Be it whatever long thought out poetic explanation he could have thought up under different, less stressful circumstances; Aramis just knew. 

He sat up, suddenly feeling very hot— the thick duvet bedding too heavy, too suffocating — and got out of the bed, careful to not wake the snoring mass next to him. He tiptoed down the hall, through the sitting room, feeling more nauseous with each step, his eyes scanning the room for a bucket, a bowl, a cup… anything. 

This can’t be happening… he thought. We were careful! He wanted to cry, to scream; all he managed to do was make it — thankfully— past his rug before lurching forward and emptying his stomach on the floor. 

Aramis softly groaned, panting through the last of the violent clenching of his stomach. He lowered to the floor and kneel over, resting his forehead on the cool floor in front of him and clenched his eyes closed, trying to not breathe in the soured smell beside him. 

“‘Mis?” He heard Porthos say from the bedroom. 

Damn. He thought— or panicked rather. He quickly tore off his nightshirt to use to clean the mess before Porthos came out and he would need to give an explanation, or worse, a confession of his unfortunate realization. 

He just wasn’t prepared for that yet. 

“Aramis?” Porthos repeated, stepping out of the room, instantly spotting him bent over the mess using an old rag to clean it up. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing!” Aramis answered quickly, balling the shirt up around any evidence and standing, giving Porthos his best and most convincing smile… to which Porthos looked even less convinced. He furrowed his brows at Aramis refusing to step aside so he could pass through the door. Aramis sighed, clutching the wad of cloth tighter. “I just… spilled something.” He said, lifting the rag slightly and nodding back towards the spot. “That’s all.” 

“Spilled what?” Porthos asked, cocking one brow questioningly.

“A glass of water.” 

“A glass of water?” Porthos repeated. Aramis nodded. Porthos rolled his eyes and looked around. “Well, where’s the glass?” 

“W- what?” Aramis practically squeaked.

“The glass…” 

Aramis felt like his face was likely either paling or reddening and he knew not how to stop either, so instead he just dipped his head down and pushed his way past the larger man. 

He heard Porthos groan; heard his heavy footed steps as he turned and followed him into the room; heard his plop down onto the bed; heard another sigh. “‘Mis… I heard ya retchin’ in there. Why ’on't you jus’ tell me what’s the matter?” 

Aramis sighed. There was really no use in hiding it. It was going to come out— quite literally actually, and the thought almost… almost brought with it a chuckle— regardless of if he told Porthos right then, or in 5 months, or even at the very end… And once revealed, all hell would surely break loose. 

“Well… y- you see… it’s really quite complicated, actually.” He peeked at Porthos, who was still giving him a stern, pressing look, only there was some confusion added. 

“Aramis.” Porthos said — more like pleaded — looking at the smaller man concerned; saddened. “Please… what’s the matter?”

“The thing is… in a way nothing is the matter. It’s quite a common thing, really. Cherished and — and prayed for… u- usually.” 

“‘Mis… you’re worrying me…” Porthos said softly, he stood and took a few long steps to quickly get into Aramis’ space. 

“I’m not trying to… I — I just… This is…” Aramis exhaled and with it came an unintended sob. He realized he was crying, and quickly rubbed his eyes to clear the tears away. This brought Porthos closer. He reached out and pulled Aramis into his strong arms holding him tightly, and rubbing circles into his back. Aramis wished it would have helped to make him feel better, but it had quite the opposite effect and he had to bury his face in Porthos’ shoulder to muffle more — louder — sobs. 

“Hey now…” Porthos fussed, squeezing him a bit before pulling him back to look at him. “‘Mis you’re scaring me.” Porthos said, grabbing Aramis’ face, and holding it up to look at him while also brushing away steady falling tears with his calloused thumbs. “You don’t look sick, yet I hear ya in ‘ere violently retching. You’re crying, yet you say whatever this is, is something to be cherished. I’m so confused, love.” 

Aramis reached up and took hold of both Porthos’ hands. He opened his mouth, took a sharp breath in and breathed it out in the quietest whisper he could manage and still know that it was heard. “I’m with child.” 

Porthos’ eyes widened. His hands dropped from Aramis’ face, but still held right to Aramis’ own hands. He took a wobbly step back. Not far, just enough to better look at Aramis. He was quiet for a long time. Long enough it was making Aramis uneasy and he was about to break the silence when Porthos whispered, “You’re what?” 

“Please do not make me repeat it…” Aramis replied, dipping his head again to avoid the look of shock Porthos was giving him. He felt Porthos drop his hands. He felt tears once again ready to pour from his eyes, and the resounding thud of Porthos’ large body hitting the floor jolted Aramis enough that they did.  

The Witcher Mpreg

“Geralt!?” Jaskier yelps, watching the witcher walk to merely feet from the griffin, wielding his sword. There's a small squabble, as the creature goes to attack and Geralt steps out of the way, swinging his sword out in defense. Then the creature lunges, but Geralt’s faster, and with a strong swing of his blade the griffin's head comes flying off, splattering Geralt with blood in the process. 

To Jaskier’s annoyance both Eskel and Lambert begin cheering and praising Geralt for the kill. “See, I told you we should have got him in the first place.” Lambert says.

“Exactly! I’m not sure why you were so against it anyway, bard…” Eskel asks.

Jaskier ignores their rambling, and marches straight to Geralt (who— and he knows Geralt will never own up to this — looks quite disheveled as he turns to Jaskier). “What in Melitele’s name are you doing here!?” 

“Hmm.” Geralt replies, gruffly. “It appears I am killing a griffin.”  

“Well — but — pfft — what do you think we were doing? We would have had it under control.” Jaskier gestures to himself and the other two, who are looking more confused by the second at the argument. 

Geralt stares — seemingly both unamused, yet wearing a smirk — at Jaskier as the bard carries on about how his services weren’t needed. “All you  were going to do was get yourself killed, Jaskier.” He finally says once he has heard enough. 

“Me!? Says the person covered in griffin blood, who decided to take the beast on entirely by himself. What if you had gotten hurt?”

“I didn’t.”

“You could have.”

“But I didn’t.”

Eskel and Lambert bounce their eyes from Jaskier to Geralt as the back and forth continues. 

“But you could have.” 

“Well you would have!” Geralt practically snarls, changing the direction of their argument. 

Jaskier steps back, as if taking offense to Geralt's accusation. “You — you don’t know that.”

“Hmm.” Geralt stares at him incredulously. 

“You — you just — ugh!” Jaskier throws his hands into the air, then crosses them angrily over his chest. The two go quiet for a moment while Lambert and Eskel watch, waiting (they almost seem excited) for them to resume their arguing. 

To, surely, no one’s surprise Jaskier is the first to speak. “Oh Gods’ Geralt… I just worry about you.” 

“I don’t need you to worry about me.” Geralt mutters in response. 

“You may feel as such, but I do nonetheless. And if I’m honest I just – I can’t help but think this — this constant persistence to continue on as this big strong Witcher, who doesn’t need help, is why…” Geralt snaps his eyes back to Jaskier, and the bard pauses, scrunching his face, choosing his next words carefully. “I just believe you should be more careful before it happens… again.” 

Both Eskel and Lambert gawk in surprise when Geralt immediately seems to wilt at Jaskier’s words, and though neither knows any better, Jaskier immediately knows he was hurt by them. 

“Are you– do you… blame me, Jaskier?” He asks in a voice suddenly heavy with sadness and much too soft to have actually come from the always gruff and burly Geralt; except for the fact everyone looking at him clearly knows it had. 

“No.” Jaskier quickly responds, guilt rising in his. “No, of course not, I just meant–”

“If I wasn’t a Witcher we wouldn’t have lost—” Geralt pauses, now looking like he’s the one choosing his words carefully. “—what we’ve lost.” He dryly finishes. His amber eyes are cold and shooting daggers at the bard; seeming much more like Geralt’s now, and yet still not like him, either.

“What? No. I just think it would be better if you took it easy… at least until the child is born...” Jaskier’s eyes widen, as do Geralt’s. “I – I mean…”

“Until what child is born?” Eskel asks, clearly confused. “Geralt, have you another child of surprise?” 

The Witcher’s jaw stiffens as his glare once again becomes harsh and angry towards Jaskier. “No.” He flatly replies; Jaskier gulps nervously in front of him.

“Then what… unless… my god Geralt have you gotten someone pregnant?” Eskel continues, and when the Witcher doesn’t immediately answer his face lights up with pride. “You have! Oh, brother, that’s amazing… a miracle even—”

“Is it Yenn? I bet it’s Yenn.” Lambert adds, nudging Eskel playfully. “Always liked her.”

“It’s not Yennefer.” Geralt says coldly through his clenched jaw.

The younger witchers look at each other puzzled. “Well then who is it?” Lambert finally asks. 

Geralt sighs, finally breaking his glare from Jaskier to look at his brothers. “I haven’t gotten anyone pregnant.”

“But then what did the bard mean — u- unless…” Eskel trails off, his eyes moving from Geralt’s face to his midsection; “Oh, Geralt… that is a miracle indeed… how did you manage—” Eskel pauses again, looking from Geralt to Jaskier and back to Geralt; and Geralt knows Eskel has figured it out. “Oh…” 

“Uh… hello?” Lambert says, waving his hand between Eskel and Geralt. “I’m still confused over here.” 

“Geralt is the one with child, you… idiot.” Eskel explains. Lambert makes a face. He looks at Eskel like the man has a second head for a moment, until he realizes that he is actually being serious. 

“Oooh!” He finally responds. “How… interesting.” 

“Right. Well now that the griffin is taken care of, and my business is entirely out in the open… I’m going back to my room.” Geralt turns on his heels, spares one final if-looks-could-kill glare at Jaskier and begins to storm away. 

“Wha- Wait — now wait a minute. Geralt!” Jaskier says, rushing to catch up to the Witcher, and grabs his arm. Geralt spins back towards him and the world goes dark.

Interdit

Aramis feels light as a feather, and for once… when Treville grumbles that he is prancing around, he doesn’t try to argue against it. He is in love, after all. It has often been known to put a bit of a skip in one’s step… His eyes momentarily locked with Porthos’– who was busy sparring with Athos in the yard– distracting him long enough for Athos to best him and bring him to the ground with a loud “Ooof.”

Porthos laughs it off, extending a hand to Athos to help him back to his feet, but Athos is instead huffing a number of obscenities under his breath… and marching straight towards Aramis. “Follow me,” he growls, passing him by and continuing on towards the barracks. “Now, Aramis…” he turns and adds and Aramis gives Porthos one final glance before turning and following after Athos.

“Athos… What on earth could be so important for you to say you need–” 

He is cut off by Athos shoving him up against the door once it closes. “Have you two lost your bloody minds?” Athos voice is pinched tight and infuriated. “What with the longing glances, and the drawn out physical contact… are you trying to get caught?”

“I– I have no idea…” 

“Oh please. Do not stand here and give me blatant lies, Aramis! I am a drunk, not an idiot.” Aramis sighs, shoving Athos off of him. “It is illegal–”

“Yes we are aware of that. It doesn’t change the way we feel.”

“It should,” Athos snaps. “It’s a death sentence.”

I feel like this is one of those youtube videos -- if you made it to the end comment with the pregnant man emoji lol!

also after that episode I think its safe to say my writing motivation is THROUGH THE ROOF soooooo