#lem is the MVP of this fic
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〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜♡
At the threshold between night and morning, when the sky is at its darkest and the air its coldest, a log in the fire collapses, sap popping, sparks fizzling. Geralt barely registers the sound, but Jaskier stirs in the hay, pushing up onto his elbow, cloak slipping off his shoulder.
"Geralt?" His voice is small and scratchy with sleep.
#crushcandles answers YOUR asks#lem is the MVP of this fic#forget me#it doesn't exist without them#thank you for this prodding and all other prodding#also lmao i swear this is an a/b/o fic#there is a/b/o stuff in there#just not in these three sentences
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