#surpriseeeeee

some tooth-rotting dayasco fluff for my fic exchange recipient @chasing-cloudzz !!!! happy holidays i hope you enjoy <3

@dragraceficevents

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“You need to stop,” Bosco says, low and undignified. “You’re gonna make me fall asleep.”

Her voice peters out to a whisper by the end. Daya must hear it anyway, because her resounding laugh is a low vibration that shoots straight to Bosco’s heart, resonating throughout her whole body.

“Baby,” Daya says, “what do you think I’ve been trying to do?”

“Hm.”

Perhaps there had been some truth to the panicked whispers of the ealdorman who had hired him, after all. According to the man, talk of a strange new shrine or icon had spread over the last few days: a structure deep in the woods which no local had partaken in construction of. Fear and suspicion had run rampant, as it ever did, but none felt brave enough to approach. Not until there had come a Witcher they could send in their stead.

The brief forest walk had given him time to ruminate on the likely possibilities, but the sight of the actual construction stopped him dead in his tracks. Sure enough, it was nothing like anything he had seen: dusky blue, probably constructed of wood, and pretty large. He had to wonder how nobody had come to notice anyone bringing materials to make this; it was hardly the sort of object one could take by cart in woodlands.

Scratching his jaw, the Witcher prowled a few cautious circuits of the strange box, noting the door, and sent a careful blast of Aard: it seemed to do little more than disturb the foliage which had come to rest up against the wood as though it had sat in place for years.

It was inexplicable, vaguely alarming: rationalisation pinned it on one of the mages, but caution bade him remain open to something altogether new.

Bright eyes stared at the door for a good long few seconds. Fuck it, nothing for it but to brazen it out and see what was what. He strode closer and slammed a fist upon the structure several times.