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Geralts secret

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Geralt has a secret, a soft spot.

Jaskier pouts when he gets annoyed. There is a slight chance that Geralt finds that absolutely adorable.
So he might be annoying on purpose. Maybe. Possibly. Totally. 


Jaskier sits on a log, it’s old and a little little rotten.
Geralt told him not to sit on that log, that his (nice) pants will get wet, but did he listen? No.

And now there is a very stubborn bard still sitting on that log. Trying very hard not to look displeased in his wet pants, but honestly, he is failing very hard.

In his efforts to hide his discomfort he is pursing his lips together, a little wrinkle between his eyebrows, staring into the fire with some rarely seen concentration.

He uses a long stick (also damp, because fuck you Geralt) to poke around in the burning logs, eliciting some very satisfying crackling.

On the actually less damp ground sits Geralt, legs crossed in a pose that would make a less flexible man cringe.

He is supposed to meditate but there is this very good feeling in his chest.

This is the safest I-told-you-so he has had with Jaskier in a long time, and the cutest.
He is holding back a smile, but he can feel the corners of his mouth twitching, betraying him.

Jaskier notices, of course. He sends Geralt a glare, his bottom lip pushing up just a little, fighting off a pout.

“What.” Jaskier says, daring Geralt to say something.
But Geralt has been around for a long, long time and he knows a trap when he sees one.

If you want to keep your tender parts attached to your body, you don’t say “I told you so.”
You just feel it.

“Don’t start a forest fire.” He says instead.

Now there is the pout for real. Three dwarves in a frock, that is adorable.

Swooning is not something witchers do, but melting he can do just fine.

“Fuck off.” Jaskier says, as predicted, turning back to the flames and poking some more just to be contradictory.

Geralt allows himself a smile, feeling very much at peace, and closes his eyes again.




“Noticed something new about me?” Jaskier asks, making a ridiculous little turn showin off his new doublet.

Geralt of course noticed, but it’s too good not to poke fun at him.

"Uuhh… did you gain weight?”

The outrage. The indignation. Imagine all the offended noises you can think of, and make them come out of Jaskiers mouth.

Jaskier doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the day. And Geralt just can’t stop smiling at that adorable little pout, so it was absolutely worth it. 




"You don’t think I see you smiling?!” Jaskier says accusingly to Geralt, his hair is sticking up in odd angles and he is pacing back and forth in Geralt's room at the inn in Oxenfurt.

For once they had coin enough not to share (and Geralt will never admit how much he dislikes that) but Jaskier came storming through his door anyway, ranting away like no tomorrow.

“You think it’s funny?! Geralt, this is serious!”

It is not. It’s just Valdo Marx again, managing to start a show before Jaskier had the chance himself, and thus stealing the show for tonight.

But Jaskier of course takes it as a personal insult, and with as much dignity as he could muster left to rant at Geralt instead.

Not that Geralt complains.
He is glad that Jaskier is there, and to be honest he expected this.

He heard Valdos nasal voice taking tone downstairs and unlatched his door so that Jaskier could come in and (pout) vent.

It is probably a little weird, but it makes Geralt happy.
A little warm feeling in his chest that Jaskier chose to come to him.

“No.” Geralt says, because that is the safest, but also the truth.

It’s not funny, but it’s very cute.

Jaskier sighs dramatically and sits down next to Geralt on the bed.

“I guess you will never understand the woes of an artist.” he sighs, and produces the most excellent pout Geralt has seen in weeks.


He can’t stop staring. His eyes are fixed to Jaskiers mouth, that lower lip sticking out and giving his lips a perfectly kissable shape.

This is not good.

Geralt tenses, taking control over his hands before they can do something dumb.


Like stroking that lip with his thumb. Pushing at it to make it open up, to give him a puff of warm breath.
Like leaning in and capturing it with his teeth.

That would be very dumb.

He is so focused on not doing that, that he doesn’t pay attention to Jaskier turning towards him.

Those very kissable lips fully turned towards him, giving him a perfect view.

He stares for another second before he catches himself and looks up. Realizing Jaskier hasn't said anything for a while, which is a little odd.

“What?” Geralt asks, but more like croaks really. Embarrassing.

Jaskier looks at him curiously, tilting his head.
Geralt's eyes betray him and shoot down to the bard's lips and back up again.

The pout and the little frown with it is gone, but damn it makes him weak.

Is he closer than before? It feels like Jaskier is closer. And when did it get warmer? It definitely feels like it’s warmer in here.

“What are you looking at?” Jaskier asks him, like he doesn’t know, the little shit. The corner of his mouth is curling upwards in a satisfied little smirk.

“Nothing.” Geralt says, staring at Jaskiers eyes to make himself not look at his lips.

It’s a little awkward but he is holding on for dear life here, be nice.


Jaskier is not nice.


Because he is leaning forward, head still tilted and lips parted, looking somewhere below Geralt's nose.

“You sure?” He asks, the absolute bastard. His lashes are long and dark, his hair is still sticking up in odd angles.

Geralt wants to kiss him so bad. His brain is not listening to what Jaskier just said, he is too focused on those lips so close to his.


“What?” He breathes, and then he loses the fight.


He leans forward and closes the distance. Capturing that lower lip between his, finally. Jaskiers arms immediately circle his neck, one hand clenching in his hair.

Geralt's hand wants to touch, wants to feel that lip, but his own mouth is in the way, so it settles on Jaskiers slightly stubbled cheek.

Jaskier obviously isn’t satisfied with the one kiss, so there are two, and then three.
And then Jaskier is the one licking Geralt's lip and he short circuits, breaks in at least five tiny pieces, forgets how to breathe, and then he lets him in.


When Jaskier finally pulls back he makes a face. Geralt's stomach plummets, but it’s alright.

“I can’t believe Valdo Marx got to sing to our first kiss.”

Geralt smiles and leans forward, stealing another one.

“And second.” He smirks at Jaskier, who pouts. Ah, two trolls in a skirt, that is adorable.


He feels his face doing something, his eyebrows moving and his lips pulling into something sappy.

Jaskiers mouth opens and then closes, eyebrows shooting up.


“That’s the expression you have been hiding from me?! How dare you!” Jaskier accuses, and then throws himself at Geralt again, who just chuckles.


A high, nasally and slightly sour note from downstairs and Jaskier pulls back again.

“Ugh. No. I can’t. Marx totally kills the mood.” Jaskier says, draping himself over Geralt's lap.

“Want me to go down and steal his lute?” Jaskier smiles and kisses Geralt's nose.

“Sweet of you. But that would ruin all of my hard work and we can’t have that.”




It is entirely possible that Jaskier now has found out about this secret little soft spot. It is entirely possible that Jaskier is abusing this power against his witcher.

And they both love it.