#if you have a problem with my roaches you’re welcome to get rid of them yourself

[pumpkingeorge]

Now that I’m awake and not high from medicine, I think the blood I’m coughing up is actually from a ruptured blood vessel in my sinuses or something. Not serious.

Still not going to the doctor though. 🪳🪳🪳

[agoracactus]

Pt4.5 - the village of Blatta

this is a short (hopefully) story happened before you met Jaskier.

cuz i forgot to write this segment. and cuz im too busy to finish my long chapters in a week, and didnt wanna keep ppl waiting, if theres ppl waiting (hopefully lmao)

Pt.1  Pt.2  Pt.3  Pt.4

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x reader

Word Count: 1931

Warnings: lack of proofread, language, blood, death

Summary: im giving up on this part completely, names and summary, my two nemesis

§

You sat at the edge of the bed, staring at your feet, having a silent debation inside your head.

“You’re up?” Geralt pushed open the door, saw you sitting at the bed, “Good, it’s getting late, we should keep moving.” “Oh, ok.” you nodded, stood up to grab your bag.

You came across this nice little village last night, and everyone was surprisingly friendly and welcoming. People invited you to their house and share food with you. Some even offered you their beds so you can have a good rest. To be honest the hospitality scared you a little, you were used to people being mean for you’re traveling with a witcher.

Walking out of this shabby wooden house, the sun was warm and bright. Couple of folks greeted you with a smile. The village looked busy, people were walking around preparing for something looked like an event, excitement floating in the air. You returned the greetings, feeling flattered.

“Oh! You are leaving?” a woman was holding a basket full of dead chicken under her arm, blood seeped through the woven basket and dripped to the ground. “What a pity! The festival is around the corner, you should stay! We love having guests! There’s going to be a feast!” You sneaked a glance towards Geralt, he seemed to have no interest at all in this feast, “Thank you for the kind offer, but we need to go now.” you tried to be as polite as you can. Not every day you get to meet someone who’s nice to you.

“Hey, um, maybe we should consider staying for a few more days?” you suggested, watching Geralt handed out an apple to Roach. “No, we need to head south, that’s what the contract said.” “Yeahhh but, it’s a feast! Feast means food!” you tried to persuade him, “We could use some free food! People here are nice- How many times did you actually receive a warm welcoming from others?” “You can stay all you want, I have a job to do.” he gave you a stern look.

You bit your lower lip, looked back over your shoulder at the small village.

“You know what, maybe I should.” you finally made your decision, “I’m staying.” Geralt stopped to look at you, didn’t understand what you were up to this time. “I’ve been thinking about this for, quite a while now... Now that we came across a lovely place, people here are friendly and welcoming... Maybe it’s time that we part ways.”

He didn’t reply.

You couldn’t tell how he felt about this.

“Don’t get me wrong, I really like traveling with you... It was fun, the adventures... And you were nice to me... But I feel like you’d rather travel alone- I mean, I get it, I’m just a weak-ass human girl, who is better stay behind when you hunt instead of getting in your way... And sometimes I get you- us- into trouble-” you realized you started babbling, so you stopped to take a breath in. “What I’m trying to say is, you are such a nice person that you probably don’t even notice that I’m just taking advantage of you... And I don’t want that. So I’m breaking this little group up. For our best interests.”

“Very well.” he untied Roach’s rein. “...That’s it?” you frowned, “You’re not gonna say something?” “I said ‘very well’.” “...” you rolled your eyes behind his back, “...Well, I guess that’s it then?” “Mmm.” Geralt hopped onto Roach. “It was nice meeting you, witcher.” “You too.” he nodded his head. “Take care, ok?” “Farewell, y/n.”

§

“Have some soup sir, it shall warm you up.” the merchant handed the witcher a wooden bowl. The witcher thanked him. Everything was quiet except for the slight crackling from the fire.

“Where are you from?” “Sodden, sir.” “You’re going north?” “Kovir, got some business to do there.” “Still got a long way then? There’s a small village on the way to replenish if you follow along this way.” “Small village? The village of Blatta? No sir! No one should ever go anywhere near that place, especially during this time of the year.” “Why?” “Those who travel frequently on this path all know the village of Blatta. It’s the village of worshipers of the Dark Lord. They hold a grand festival in name of their vicious god every year around this season, using the blood of their livestock to attract monsters, making sacrifices of children and young women and any outsiders who happened to come across their way and call that a ‘cleanse’- Where are you going sir? It’s not safe to travel in these woods at night- Sir!”

§

He was late when he arrived at the village.

There was no light in any of the houses, all the doors and shutters were closed. The pungent smell of blood was drowning him. Several dark shadows were squatting around, he could hear the sound of munching, slurping and the nasty noise coming from their throat. He took out a small tube, uncork it with his teeth, drank it all up and jumped off of Roach. He took a few steps forward with the momentum, took out his sword and carefully approached.

The faint light from the moon was not a problem to his witcher eyes, he slowly walked closer to the necrophages, formed a sign with his fingers. Flame bursted out from his hand. The monsters screamed and ran away into the woods.

The witcher looked down. All the bodies had their wrists and ankles tied up, dried animal blood mixed with their own congealed in their hair. It seemed like the villagers poured the blood of their livestock onto these poor lives and left them here to be devoured by the necrophages.

To his relief, he didn’t see anyone resembling your feature.

He heard something inside the house. He turned and saw pairs of eyes peeking through the crack of the shutters. The witcher felt anger quietly rising within him. He held tight to his sword, picked up his pace to follow the trace of the monsters into the forest.

§

You were hurt, you couldn't tell where exactly you were hurt due to the burning sensation spreading across your torso. But you didn’t dare to slow down.

You tripped against a rock and fell hard to the ground. The pistol in your hand almost misfired with your finger held tight against it. You tried to get up, but your limbs were weak from the pain.

All you could hear was your heartbeat and heavy panting.

You thought you lost them. The monsters. But you couldn’t lose the sight of the screaming children. You shook your head to get rid of the image before it brought up more traumatizing memory, and struggled to get up.

You knew you were lost in this forest, every direction looked the same, and the dim light of the crescent moon was not helping. You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand, felt the moisture there which you couldn’t tell if its sweat or blood. You took a few deep breaths to steady your heart and picked a random direction, quietly walked towards that way, praying to whoever’s out there this is not the way back to that horrific village.

§

The witcher was panting heavily. Standing in the middle of a pit which was full of the bodies of the creatures he just slew, on a bed of human bones and pieces of cloths. The stench of rotten flesh and the necrophage was piercing through his nose to his brain, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, eyes glancing around frantically around the once-monster-nest.

There was a snap of the twig behind him, sounded like thunder in this deadly silent woods. He turned around sharply, wielding his sword, ready to strike out.

You were at the edge of the pit, eyes wide, face pale as a sheet. He saw cuts above your eyebrow and on your arms and legs, and smelled dirt mixed with blood and sweat.

“Oh my god...” you said under your breath, staring at him. He realized what he looked like now, under the influence of his potion. He instinctively turned his face away.

“Geralt...” you jumped down the pit, ran to him with effort, and threw your arms around him. Geralt stiffened. “Are you hurt?” you quickly released him, pulled back to look at his face, then gave a quick scan down his body--- but you couldn’t tell with the limited moonlight, so your eyes shot right back at his face, “Geralt?” “...No.” he stared right back at you, and didn’t see what he was expecting in your eyes.

“...I’m so glad I found you...” you hugged him again. He now realized you were trembling. He put his hand on your back, “You’re safe now.” You nodded against his leather armor, didn’t care it smelled like shit.

You released him once more, “Let’s get out of this hell hole shall we?” trying to make a joke, but failed with your now shaking, choked voice. He nodded, sheathing his sword, “Maybe next time find a better village?” You let out a nervous laugh, took his forearm to climbed out of the pit.

[dapandapod]

HERE YOU GO! PART TWO!
(You should read part ONE before reading this one, or on Ao3) ~~~~~~*~~~~~ Jaskier is absolutely miserable.
He throws himself into bed dramatically, as is his forte. Absently trying to kick off his boots, face down in the pillow. Why did this have to happen?
No doubt Geralt would be down there for hours more, and he really can’t blame him. Well. Yes he can. He can blame him a little. Because there was a wonderful specimen of barding perfection right next to him. A much better option. His left goddamned boot won’t let go. He peeks down at it.
“You betraying me too, huh?” He asks it. Luckily, the boot doesn’t answer.
If it did, it would either mean that he lost his mind, or he would have to go fetch Geralt.
He’d rather not go fetch Geralt right now. He wiggles his leg, feebly trying to free himself. You know what? So what if he wants Geralt? Geralt is a glorious piece of manmeat anyway, and obviously he is not the only one thinking it. Some who had approached Jaskier for some late night adult fun had even asked him if the witcher would mind joining them. He might have to reevaluate what stung back then though. Wine. Jaskier needs wine. He needs to drown thoughts of mouthwatering witchers and betrayed friendships. But that includes going down there. To them.
Or does it? He stops his wiggling, thinking about it. Jaskier is a big boy. He can get himself some wine. No problem!
The Epic Boot Battle ends with Jaskier finally just pulling the offending thing off with both hands, standing up. Like a cat, (also barefoot) he sneaks out of their room, down the stairs. Jaskier arrives just in time to see Geralt blush furiously. He didn’t know he could do that. A little lost, he just stands there. He barely registers the soft evil barmaid swaggering up to him with a tray of empty glasses and tankards.
“Need something, hun?” She says, kindly. Jaskier hates her a little for it. He tears his eyes from the shocking sight of a blushing witcher.
“Uh.. Mmm, sorry yes. Could I have a flagon of wine to bring to the room?”
“Sure thing dear.” She saunters away, hips swaying. Any other night he would have admired it, maybe find a way to admire it more intimately. But tonight, she is the enemy. The enemy returns with his wine, and Jaskier all but flees up the stairs. There will be words when Geralt returns. If he returns. ~~*~~ Geralt is… feeling things.
He had not expected Bella to be so perceptive. She had shared his bed before, and he wouldn’t have minded sharing it again.
Now he minds. Sharing a room with Jaskier suddenly sucks a lot more than normal, because that wretched woman just put words on what he has been denying for ages. And he just gave Jaskier the impression that he was spending the night with Bella. On purpose. Because he is an idiot. Geralt decides to stay at the table for a while. Refuse to choose the lesser evil and all that. The other patrons are lively and they like him here for the most part. He had taken a contract here last year, ridding them of a werewolf tormenting their village. As it turns out, the werewolf were none other than their equally oppressive mayor, and the people had prospered without him.
So yes, he was welcome here. He watches the other patrons for a while, talks a little bit more to Bella, although a bit more stiffly now. She smiles knowingly and a far bit more evil than he thought her capable of. He can stand it for about an hour.
That must be enough. Hopefully Jaskier is asleep by now.
Bella kisses his cheek and wishes him luck when he excuses himself for the night. Evil woman. Jaskier is not asleep.
Fuck. He is sitting by the table in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest, glaring over his glass of wine. Geralt closes the door behind him, not sure if he actually should just run away. Take Roach and ride away in the night. “Sit down, Geralt.” Jaskir says in a voice he doesn’t recognize. Not good.
Warily Geralt sits down on the opposite chair. The night had started out so good.
“We are friends, right?”… What?
“You know me and I know you? Like, I know you like sweet cakes but pretend you don’t. How you prefer sunrise to sunset. And you know how I am really scared of heights.” Geralt had not expected Jaskier to have noticed that about him. He grunts noncommittally, not wanting to confirm nor deny.
Wrong answer. Jaskier frowns, leaning forward. “Really? That’s all you’re giving me?” He sounds kind of hurt. And a little drunk, Geralt realizes, noticing for the first time just how little wine there is left.
Jaskier stands up, walking agitated around the room. “I am shook, Geralt, to my very core.” Geralt is a little nervous, he is not sure where Jaskier is going with this, what his point is. Did he want Bella or something? Or far worse, had he heard her?
“Did I do something wrong?” Jaskier stops with his back to him. Geralt doesn’t understand.
“I .. don’t understand.” He admits.
Jaskier whips around and pins him with a glare.
“Am I unclear? You have HURT me, Geralt, wounded me. If I ever want you to tell me about something, I have to threaten you, nag at you, anything to coax a WORD out of you.” Jaskier starts pacing again, and Geralt is trying to puzzle together what Jaskier is hurting over. Jaskier stops again. Studies Geralt, and he can see an idea take form in his eyes. There is that satisfied glint, like a cat finding a way to trap its prey.
“Maybe I went about this the wrong way.” Jaskier says, looking at him with those blue, blue eyes through his lashes. Geralt’s heart skips a beat. Does he know what effect he has on him when he does that? The bard stalks over to Geralt’s chair and looks down on him. Considering. And then, without preamble, he grabs Geralt’s arms and moves them out of the way and plops down in his laps. Jaskier is sitting in his lap. Their legs warm against each other, and then Jaskier arranges Geralt’s arm around him.
This is not normal.
Something is weird with Jaskier.
Did someone put a spell on him? Geralt can only stare, bewildered. Jaskier is always physically affectionate, always prone to hugging or patting shoulders, offering massages. Drunk Jaskier is always worse, impulse control getting them in so much trouble.
It’s also what produces images of what Geralt would like to do to Jaskier. With Jaskier. Against tables for example. Or placed in his lap.
He gulps. “If this is how to get you to talk, this is what I’ll do.” Jaskier leans against Geralt’s chest. It was nice when Bella did it, but when Jaskier does it Geralt stops working.
Jaskier narrows his eyes at him, like he is threatening him. Geralt can see his pulse jump under the thin skin of his neck.
When Geralt fails to give a satisfactory response he pouts a little.
“Or do I need boobs for this?” Jaskier looks down on his own chest, cupping his nonexistent breasts. Geralt swallows.
“Is there something you would like to know?” he manages to get out, already regretting it, trying not to combust under Jaskier.
“As a matter of fact, yes, Geralt. I would very much like to know what had you blush like that.”
Fuck. FUCK.
“And she wasn’t even in your lap then, so I’m guessing it is something she said. But you are here now, so it woudln’t be sexrelated.” Jaskier muses. It takes everything he has not to push the bard off his lap and just run. Fight or flight.
“Why do you care?” Geralt blurts out.
“Because, Geralt, you told her things. It didn’t even take a question, and you fucking told her about a scar it took me a WEEK to get out of you.” Wait.
“Jaskier… Are you jealous?”
What if he is? What if Bella is right? What if..? Two tense seconds of silence follows. The longest two seconds of Geralt’s entire life. “So what if I am?” The pout is back, worse than ever. Geralt has to grab Jaskiers hips so that he won’t fall off when he flails his arms around. “I am your very best friend in the whole wide world, and you tell some…some wench things so freely.” Geralt can’t say anything. His hands are on Jaskier, and he clench them in the fabric of Jaskiers clothes so he won’t do something stupid. Like lifting him the fuck up and press him down on the table instead. But Geralt is a very, very controlled man. He can do this. Jaskier grabs his face, cupping his cheeks, making the witcher meet his eyes.
“What if she did something bad to you, Geralt. She could totally try to get information to use against you! You are a very handsome man and sometimes that makes–”
“–I uh… Sorry. What was the question again?” He breaks in, because if Jaskier finishes that sentence… “Why the fuck were you blushing Geralt?” Apparently, talking about it is enough for the heat to return to his face.
“She uh… she told me to tell you something.” He manages to get out. Not what Jaskier was expecting apparently, he frowns and leans back a little.
“Tell me what? That sounds incredibly unsexy actually. What the hell?” No. Geralt can’t do this. “Fuck, you are cute when you are jelouse.” Geralt breathes, unable to help himself.
“She told you to tell me that?” Jaskiers frown deepen. Geralt is only a man. Only a witcher. A male fucking witcher, who needs to do something about this. He pushes Jaskier out of his lap. His bard looks a little hurt, but is soon cured of that when Geralt crowds him against the table. Their eyes never stray from each other, Geralt making sure Jaskier can push him away at any moment. But he doesn’t. His expression is open, vulnerable, hopeful.
So Geralt lifts Jaskier up on the table, settling himself between his open knees. Slowly Geralt leans forward, capturing Jaskiers lips with his. Sweet, stupid, oblivious Jaskier. Jaskier whimpers and presses himself even closer to the witcher, arms around his neck. Geralt holds him tightly against his chest and they kiss again. It’s fire, they are melting against each other, molding together. “She told me to fuck you against the table.” Geralt admits against Jaskiers mouth. He feels rather than sees Jaskiers lips stretch into a smile.
“I can see why that had you blushing.”

[silverynight]

Everything that matters

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Jaskier is not going to let that ruin his night. He decides to sing a few songs (princess Cirilla seems to like them) and try to get out of his head that Geralt called his singing a “pie without filling”.

It’s alright, it doesn’t matter. He had spent a couple of years admiring someone that wasn’t that good after all. He can get over it soon.

Although he also can take revenge by singing his popular “Toss s coin…” since Geralt seems to hate his voice. Perhaps the songs he writes are not actually perfect, but at least he made an effort to gather information enough to write them.

He was hoping to write a few more by asking the witcher himself about his adventures, but that’s out the of question now.

Maybe he should try to find his own adventures or get inspired by walking around the kingdom more often. The problem is that Jaskier is not really good at protecting himself and he’s sure it’d be almost impossible to ask Yennefer to keep him company.

Right now she’s fluttering her eyelashes at Tissaia and pretending she doesn’t care about her at the same time. Yen has learned a lot of magic on her own, but knows she needs a mentor. However, she refuses to admit it; she’s even more reluctant to do so in front of Tissaia.

Jaskier has always thought it’s their own way of flirting.

He sighs, plays one more melody with the lute and walks around the place to see if he can find a spot to sit. Actually, sometimes he kind of looks for a woman or a man in need of company and spends the night with them, but now he’s not in the mood at all.

Geralt would have no problem finding someone if he wasn’t always glaring at everyone that even looks in his direction or if he decided to finally be a little bit more polite with people. Although, it’s very clear he doesn’t want anyone near him.

Well… Calanthe talks to him, but she’s the Queen, she doesn’t get easily intimidated… Actually, judging by her expression she seems to find Geralt’s grumpy attitude quite amusing.

“You beautiful boy, would you keep me company tonight?”

Jaskier almost jumps at the sound of that voice and curses himself for being so distracted he didn’t notice Lord Ferguson approaching. In fact, he hadn’t even seen him in the banquet.

The bard thinks it’s better to make his disgust quite obvious and takes a step back, while grimacing at the man.

“Not today, not ever… Now, if you excu–”

“I don’t have a problem with making you my lovely wife first, if that’s what you want,” the man insists, getting closer; Jaskier ends up with his back against one of the columns and looks around to find his sister, but she’s at the other side of the room and pretty much distracted at the moment.

“Well… That’s the problem right there, you see, I don’t want to be your wife or anyone’s wife for that matter,” he smiles, although it’s an expression that clearly says ‘fuck off’… There’s nothing sincere about it.

A hand grabs him by the waist, which makes it clear that Ferguson is even more of an idiot than he initially thought.

“Come with me… I know you’ll like it–”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. If I were you I’d move my hand away.”

The first thing that surprises the bard it’s not the fact that Geralt is right there next to them and glaring at Ferguson like he wants to kill him, no… It’s that Geralt mentioned Jaskier’s name and he doesn’t remember telling his name to the witcher.

Before turning around, Ferguson considers protesting but as soon as he finds himself facing a pair of furious, yellowish eyes, he seems to reconsider it.

“I didn’t know you were interes–”

“I’m not,” Geralt cuts him off immediately, trying not to look at Jaskier. “I don’t even like him. I’m just saying you could choose someone else… He’s just a bard.”

“I’ll… I’ll do that,” Ferguson nods, clearly afraid because even though the witcher’s tone is not as terrifying as before, his eyes are still full of anger.

Just a bard, huh? Alright, Jaskier knows the witcher is helping him to get rid of the man, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to ignore that.

“You seem to get yourself in trouble quite often,” Geralt comments when they’re finally alone and for the first time Jaskier decides not to say anything and walk away.

The witcher follows him though.

“You know… A 'thank you’ will be enough,” Geralt mumbles and Jaskier stops only to turn around and narrow his eyes at him.

“I had it under control,” he lies, trying not to blush. There’s something about the witcher that always makes him feel flustered.

Geralt snorts and it’s so weird to see him smiling instead of frowning Jaskier forgets his irritation for a moment.

“Of course you did…”

“I don’t need your help,” he says. Geralt doesn’t like him, right? Then what is he doing there?

“Perhaps you did want to spend the night with him, huh?” The witcher growls, looking furious again. “Go find him, it’s not too late.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be helping you next time…”

“Perfect!” Jaskier snaps; he’s not even sure why he’s acting like that… There’s something so irritating about Geralt.

At least he won’t have to talk to him anymore.

***

“I saw you last night,” Yennefer smirks at him during breakfast. “The witcher and you looked like you were getting along.”

Jaskier snorts, obviously she’s joking… She has to be. Last night was an absolute disaster, at least for him.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” she insists and Jaskier stares back with an incredulous look on his face.

“He called my singing a 'pie with no filling’,” he says through gritted teeth. That one still hurts, especially because most of his songs are about the man himself.

Yennefer chuckles, but at least has the decency to stop when she sees the murderous look on Jaskier’s face.

“I must admit that doesn’t sound like a compliment,” she concedes. “And that I lament not coming up with something like that myself.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and decides that it’s better to focus on his bread rather than trying to argue with his sister.

“But he was following you around,” Yen comments after a while. “That means something.”

“It means he was bored and wanted to bother me to entertain himself,” Jaskier huffs. He knows he’s being overdramatic, but part of him hates the fact that he dedicated a couple of years writing songs about a witcher who is actually a dick. “Please, just forget about it.”

For a moment the bard’s glad to see their mother walking inside the kitchen, but the moment vanishes quickly.

“I heard you turned down Lord Ferguson’s proposal,” she says, looking absolutely disappointed. “I cannot believe it. Jaskier, honestly…”

Yennefer flees from the room and Jaskier is left alone with their mother.

The perfect way to start his day.

***

Jaskier is sure his idea is a good one. In order to stop singing about the witcher, he needs to find inspiration elsewhere. The problem is that he doesn’t usually get out of the village often; he does it only when Yennefer is around because she could protect him (although he’d never admit that in front of her).

When he finally gets a little bit farther from the village as usual, he feels weird. It’s obvious he’s not really good at fighting and he doesn’t know anything about magic. In fact, the only thing that could be considered a weapon is his lute and he’s not willing to ruin it by using it like one.

However, it’s early in the morning and the forest seems to be quiet that day. He smiles and sits under a tree close to the river, remembering his days as a child when the only thing he could think of was to have his own adventures to sing about.

But those days are long gone.

Jaskier sighs and starts tuning his lute, thinking of the nature; some people like songs about rain and forests and magic… Perhaps he can sing about that instead of a witcher killing monsters.

A noise manages to distract him and when he looks up he sees a beautiful horse getting closer to drink from the river.

The animal doesn’t seem to mind his presence, in fact it seems to trust him; Jaskier notices the saddle then and laments for a moment that the horse has already an owner.

He gives in and strokes the mare’s muzzle.

“It looks like Roach likes you,” the witcher’s voice startles the bard and he’s back on his feet without noticing what he’s doing. “I have no idea why.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes at him. Why must Geralt be incredibly attractive and grumpy at the same time?

“What are you doing here anyway?” Geralt asks, not looking particularly pleased. “It’s dangerous.”

“I’ve been here dozens of times before,” Jaskier lies… again.

“Hmm…” The witcher does the kind of expression that people do when they’re listening to horseshit. He takes water from the river and gets closer to the bard. Someone else would be terrified, but not Jaskier. He feels safe around the witcher. “We’re going back now.”

“I hope you and Roach have a nice–Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Before he can do anything, Jaskier is being lifted like he weighs nothing and is quickly sat on the mare.

He wants to keep protesting, but it’s so difficult because he’s very much distracted by the fact that Geralt can carry him like that without breaking a sweat.

And then he gets flustered when Geralt sits behind him.

“Let’s go, Roach.”

Jaskier should say something… Anything, but he’s still trying not to move too much.

“I can take care of myself,” he finally says, trying to ignore the fact that Geralt knows exactly where he lives for some reason because he has just stopped right in front of his house.

“No, you can’t, brother,” Yennefer says, opening the door because of course she’s there when Jaskier doesn’t need her. “Thanks for bringing him home, witcher.”

“Hmm,” Geralt nods, ignoring the bard’s protests because of course he can get down on his own. But no, the witcher takes him by the waist and puts him on the floor. “You’re welcome, Jaskier.”

The bard sighs… He doesn’t know if he should thank him for what happened yesterday, although he decides not to when he sees the glimmer of amusement in his yellowish eyes.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” he whispers to his sister as he walks by her and hears the mare trotting away.

***

You can read up to chapter 4 on my Patreon already. ❣️

Kofi / Patreon