Work Text:
FILLED PIE
By Senashenta
Geralt, I want you to know that I treasure our friendship very much.
Jaskier stared down at the sentence he’d just written, blinked a few times, then dipped his quill in the inkwell and quickly scribbled it out again. Couldn’t use the word “friendship” in a letter declaring his love, couldn’t use that sentence structure at all, it sounded too much like a break-up letter, which he had an unfortunate amount of experience with.
He was currently sitting in their room at the inn in whichever little town they were in (honestly he lost track sometimes), doing his absolute best to ruin his current notebook in the process of writing a love letter. To Geralt. Who was off on a Contract right now.
…why had he thought this was a good idea?
Right. The pining. That needed to stop, one way or another. So he would tell Geralt how he felt, and if Geralt felt the same way then great! If not, well… he’d tried. And he would know. He could move on. Closure and all that.
Frustrated, Jaskier did one big scribble over the whole page of Beginnings Of Love Letters and then dropped his quill, leaning back in the chair and letting his head fall back with a groan. He was a Bard for Heaven’s sake! He was supposed to be good with words and prose, but here he was, failing to write one stupid letter…
Okay, maybe the letter was the problem. Geralt wasn’t a letter kind of a man. Maybe Jaskier would be better served to just tell him how he felt! …that was a terrifying prospect. What would he even say? How would he start? Just “Geralt, I’ve been in love with you since fucking Posada?” Noooo no no no. No. Bad idea.
Hunching forward now, Jaskier thumped his forehead against his notebook, completely forgetting that the ink there was still wet, and when he sat up again he came away with black smears across his face without even knowing it.
Maybe he just needed to practice.
Standing, he paced over to the window to look out into the night and took a few breaths as he composed his thoughts. “Geralt,” he said to the room finally, completely missing the door opening and Geralt himself stepping in, closing it behind himself; “we’ve been travelling together for a long time. We’ve been friends a long time. But over that time my feelings have… they’ve changed. When I look at you now I feel… longing and yearning. I watch you in secret when you’re not looking because it’s impossible for me not to. I’m afraid I’ve… I’ve fallen in love with you, Geralt. With the person you are and the code you live by and the sense of humor you claim not to have. Truly, deeply, I love you. And I… I just thought you should know…”
Trailing off, Jaskier sighed and looked down. It all sounded wrong to his ears, but—
The floor creaked behind him and he whirled around, freezing mid-motion when he saw Geralt standing there. Blue eyes widened hugely. “H-how much of that did you hear?”
Geralt shifted and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Most of it, I think.”
Jaskier flushed red and looked down. “I’m sorry, I was just—”
“You’re not a filling-less pie.”
“I—what?” The bard looked up again, confused.
“You’re not a filling-less pie.” Geralt repeated as he moved farther into the room, approaching Jaskier like he would a spooked horse. “I’m sorry I said that.” And then, gently, “you’ve got ink on your face.”
“Wh—” Jaskier scrubbed at his face blindly, still beet red, and inched backward as Geralt moved toward him, until his back hit the window.
“I was wrong about that,” Geralt continued as he stepped closer into Jaskier’s space, “just like I was wrong when I said that Witchers don’t have feelings.” Jaskier’s mouth opened and closed a few times when Geralt reached to carefully cup his jaw—and then leaned in to kiss him, just lightly and gently. “Because I definitely have feelings for you, Jaskier.”
“You do?” The words were breathed out.
“Hmm. I do.” The Witcher smiled faintly, “now to get a cloth and I’ll get the ink off your forehead.”