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Summary
“People like me now and I hate it.” A gruff, almost growl of a voice says from behind him. Jaskier jumps out of his skin and into the rafters. He was startled sure, but also whoever had just spoken most certainly just saw him put bread in his pants.
“Beg pardon?” He manages to get out and he turns around. Oh oh. It’s the gorgeous man, his muse, the one he just sang a song about without permission in front of a crowd. The one whose forearm was thicker than his neck. The one whose thighs, Jaskier stopped that train of thought before it could begin.