#it has been ten months and I'm still PISSED | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ashwhowrites · 4 months

Note

Can I request some jealous! Eddie x cheerleader! reader? (Totally inspired to request bc of the Billy fic!) But what if Reader and Eddie had been dating for over a year and Reader is a cheerleader, and Eddie's jealous bc he always find Steve, Billy, Jason, and all those jocks flirting with reader (pretend this is B4 season 4) and once they were at Chrissy's party, Eddie to do deals, but he found the jocks flirting with Reader at a party (reader thinks the jocks are dumb). After some hours, Eddie has had enough, he takes her to his van and they have sex and Reader's like, if you were so jealous you should've told me! (But like, she's not angry, she thinks it's cute that Eddie acts overprotective and all that when he's jealous) ik you just wrote the Billy one, but I can imagine Billy and Eddie being like different kind of jealous boys (if that's a thing!)

Haha I'm glad you got some inspiration. I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

If the van is shaking, don't come knocking

Eddie knew that the second he took Y/N off the market, there would be consequences. When Eddie was chasing after her, he wasn't the only one. He was running with every boy in school, all competing to win her heart. He knew she was way out of his league, and he knew if he fucked up, she has many options waiting for her.

But for some reason, she set her eyes on Eddie at the start and they never wandered off. Eddie doesn't understand it, but he isn't gonna question it.

Sadly, the jocks didn't quite stop chasing her after their relationship went official. Eddie felt like he had to beat guys off of her with a stick. Even after a full year of being together, the basketball ball team watched her more than the ball. Eddie almost wanted to join the team just so he could throw the ball at their dicks.

Billy Hargrove, a blonde with blue eyes and a reputation for being amazing in bed. Eddie knows Billy isn't a real competition because Y/N was sweet and hated assholes. Plus he looked nothing like Eddie, and Eddie knows he's Y/N's type. So only a .5 threat to Eddie. But Billy knew how to flirt, and that scared Eddie.

Jason Carver, another blonde and blue eyes, is not a threat to Eddie. Incredibly rich? Yeah, he's got that over Eddie's head. Still an asshole, but less than Billy. A full-point threat to Eddie.

Steve fucking Harrington, has dark hair and dark eyes. Bits of curls were thrown in and moles on his delicate skin. He was rich, smart, stupidly friendly, and one of Y/N's closest friends. And the damn guy was good with kids, which Y/N fawned over. A full ten-point threat to Eddie.

~~~

It was party night at Chrissy's and Eddie didn't want to leave the van. Y/N was wearing dark jeans, an old hoodie of Eddie's, and white sneakers. And Eddie wanted to pounce. The way her perfume lingered on his hoodie made his brain shut off and his dick has full control. He couldn't help but move his hand up her thigh and kiss her neck.

"Let's just stay in here." He whispered, his hot tongue licking up her neck. She whined as she melted into his touch. He always knew how to get her hot and bothered in seconds.

"I wish, but we can't. Chrissy was pissed when we skipped the last party to hook up in the hot tub in the basement." Y/N whined, but not trying too hard to push him off.

"Ugh fine. Stupid cheer squad." Eddie said as he groaned. He pulled himself away and took out his keys.

"Be nice!" Y/N warned. She gave him a stern look but still pecked his lips before they got out of the van.

And just like months to a flame, the boys came running.

"Heya gorgeous, interested in some beer bong?" Billy asked, his shirt unbuttoned as his chest glistened in some type of liquid. Eddie slipped his hand into Y/N's back pocket, a glare sent to the bad boy.

"Maybe in a bit? Eddie and I are going to get a drink!" She said sweetly as she waved. Eddie sometimes hated how sweet she was to everyone.

"I'll let your boyfriend play!" Billy tried again, a smirk on his face when Y/N squealed excitedly.

"Baby! Let's go play. You kick ass at this game all the time." Y/N said, grabbing his hand out of her jeans pocket to hold it and drag him to the table.

Y/N swept the hoodie over her head, she didn't want to ruin it with stains of beer or whatever alcohol was in the cups.

Eddie growled as Billy whistled, his eyes taking in Y/N's tight black long-sleeve. Eddie couldn't help but stare as well, but he's the boyfriend so he's allowed to do that.

"Just go, Hargrove," Eddie said as he rolled his eyes.

"If I win, your girl is my partner for the next round," Billy said, smirking as he threw the ball and it landed perfectly in the red solo cup.

Eddie already planned to win, but now he wasn't leaving until he embarrassed the king of Hawkins.

~~~

"THAT'S MY BOYFRIEND!" Y/N screamed, a little tipsy. She held her arms up proud as Eddie sank the ball in the last remaining cup. Eddie smirked as Billy glared over, his girl wrapped herself around his body in a side cuddle. Eddie stood proud, his hand came down on her ass and he gripped it hard. Billy's eyes watched with anger and jealousy as he chugged the drink.

Y/N put back on Eddie's hoodie and grabbed Eddie's hand.

After the game, they finally made it inside the actual party. And to no surprise, Jason found them.

"Well hello, beautiful. How are you?" He asked, his eyes not looking away from her.

"A little tipsy. Eddie and I just creamed Hargrove at beer pong." Y/N said, she was so friendly and sweet that she didn't notice every time she brought up Eddie, these boys fought back a glare. Almost like she was always reminding them without knowing.

"Good. Someone needed to take him down a few" Jason said, and Y/N laughed. Of course, Jason felt like he was the man for making her laugh. But so what, Eddie made her laugh a hundred times a day.

Jason and Y/N talked for a few minutes, Eddie stood next to her but didn't contribute to the conversation. Just kept his eyes on Jason to make sure he didn't try anything.

"Need to run to the bathroom. Be aware of your surroundings and don't let him flirt into your mouth." Eddie said, pecking her cheek. She nodded and moved to peck his lips.

Eddie knew he had to be fast, the boys watched her like a prey. The second the alpha was gone, they prepared to attack.

~~~

Eddie went as fast as he could, washing his hands in five seconds as he raced back out. Only to not find her in the same place he left her.

It was thirty seconds, how the fuck did she move so fast?

He searched the house and made his way to the kitchen. He smiled as he watched her sit on the counter, her feet dangling as she sipped on water. He panicked and all she was doing was being a good girl and drinking water.

Eddie for the first time since they came, felt like it was just the two of them. But then Steve walked right into the perfect picture.

"Thanks for the water." She said as she chugged it down.

"Of course, someone should be watching over something as delicate as you," Steve said, his fingers reaching up to touch her chin, but Eddie's hand stopped him. He didn't say a word, just growled at Steve and shoved him.

Steve was the one guy he refused to let flirt with her for one second. Steve backed off and pouted as Eddie grabbed Y/N's hand and raced them out the door.

"Eddie? Where are we going?" She asked, her feet trying to keep up with his long strides. But Eddie didn't say a word, he opened the back of his van and crawled in. Even though he looked pissed, he was a gentleman and gently helped her up into the van.

"What's wrong?" She tried again as he slammed shut the doors. Instead of answering, he smashed his lips on hers. He easily pushed her down, her back against the soft carpet. His hands were working up and down her body at a fast pace.

They pulled apart to quickly take off their clothes, both eagerly trying to get naked as fast as they could. Y/N didn't even have time to take off her bra when Eddie was pushing her down again.

He dove between her thighs, hot tongue swirling around her clit as he shoved two fingers into her mouth, she swirled her tongue around them. Getting them soaked in her spit. She let them go with a loud pop, then he took the same fingers and shoved them into her cunt.

She whined as his mouth sucked on her clit and his fingers scissored inside of her. He was fucking her fast, and it made her head spin. She could feel him forcing an orgasm out of her. Like he wanted her to cum in seconds. She moaned, her thighs clenching around his head as her hands dug into his hair. She kept his head in place as she rocked her hips against his tongue and fingers.

But before she could cum, he removed himself. She whined after him, her hands reaching for him.

"One second, pretty girl. Just want you to soak my cock." He smirked, leaning down to peck her lips as he pushed his cock inside of her. She whimpered as his cock stretched her out even further. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he started fucking into her.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her. She was screaming and clawing at everything she could. He was ruthless, almost animal-like. His mouth was on hers, then her neck, chest, and every part of skin he could reach. His hands were above her head as he looked down at her. He watched her face as her body took his cock perfectly. The way her cunt would clench around him, letting him feel the pulsing inside of her. Then her eyes would squeeze shut and her mouth would drop open with screams, moans, and whimpers.

Eddie wanted the van to shake. He wanted everyone to hear her. He wanted everyone to know she was getting fucked good by her boyfriend. He hoped Billy was still playing beer pong, he hoped Jason went outside for air, and he hoped Steve followed them outside. He wished more than anything they could see his van shake and know her tight cunt was getting fucked by him and him only.

His fingers went down to her clit, and that's when she saw stars. She screamed as she covered his cock in her cum. Her wetness making a mess everywhere and probably staining the carpet below them. She could feel Eddie in her stomach, his bulge showing as it moved inside her stomach. She pressed down on it, loving the way Eddie growled.

"Gonna fill this pretty pussy with all my cum. Gonna be dripping with my cum inside of you." He growled into her ear, he panted as he felt his balls tighten. His hot cum filled her as he bit down on her shoulder. She whimpered as her cunt grew sensitive and the extra hit of his teeth created marks on her delicate skin.

He slowly pumped himself dry inside of her, gently removing himself. He prepped her face with kisses and praise. Reaching for a spare towel he kept for these occasions. He gently wiped off her cunt, trying not to dive in for seconds as her cunt pulsed and gushed.

"If you were so jealous, you could've told me." She said with a breathy laugh. She was fucked out, barely felt anything.

Eddie looked up at her. She looked down at him with a fucked out, dazed look. A lazy smile on her face.

"Where's the fun in that?" Eddie winked

Eddie- a full threat to Billy, Jason and Steve

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut x reader #eddie Munson smut #eddie munson smut x female reader #eddie munson x cheerleader #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #eddie munson smut x cheerleader reader #ashwhowrites

624 notes · View notes

jeongheart · 7 months

Text

super shy

summary: he's been receiving these letters for the past year but, he doesn't know your name, does he?

w.c: 7.1k.

tags: friends to lovers, fluff, slice of life.

a.n: this is the longest fic i ever written omg, i've been playing new jeans latest comeback for a few days and this is the result lol. as always, english is not my first language so sorry in advance for any mistakes. leave your thoughts if you liked it, means a lot!

It was there again.

Sitting immaculately on top of his messy folders, the envelope was white without any type of decoration, the owner of the cursive handwriting wouldn't even risk placing a sticker since it could give a clue, even minimal, about who was behind it.

The classroom was almost empty, since recess ended a few minutes ago and the students were still lazily getting up from the grass where they were lying, not wanting to lock themselves in a room again for hours while the day was shining beautifully outside the building.

However, Chan looked around him, narrowing his eyes as he scanned his classmates for the smallest trace of uneasiness as he took the envelope in his hands. But he didn't find any, unless the author had a master's degree in poker face no one around him seemed interested in what he was doing.

After the failed scrutiny, he sat down again with no care on the wooden bench, eager to read what that person had to say today. This excited feeling was new for him, the letters had been arriving about a year ago, right at the beginning of the new semester and at first, Chan found it funny. Surely one of his friends (he bet his life on either Seungmin or Minho, those two were always up to something no matter how much they said they weren't) found it fun to piss him off this year, after all, it has been a long time since his last relationship and sometimes he felt the need of affection, so the "joke" made perfect sense in his head.

He didn't read them the first few months, he just crumpled them up and kept them in a hidden place in his backpack, to let whoever was behind them know that he wasn't interested. But they kept coming even after that vile act against someone's real feelings; and that was when Chan began to question if there really was a person genuinely interested in him, interested enough to send him handwritten letters as if they were living in a classic romance novel. The person had a beautiful vocabulary, and it was clear that they paid attention to details that he didn't even noticed about himself.

The notes weren't very long since they didn't exceed ten lines, but each word was full of admiration and affection. They always reminded him to eat and take care of his health, in addition to telling him day by day one of the qualities why his mysterious person had fallen in love with him. Chan blushed every time he read those reasons, it was no secret (to himself, since he didn't like others to know) that he didn't think very highly of himself; from his point of view there was nothing nice or admirable about his existence. But this person believed just the opposite, and they had made their life's mission to let him know that every day.

Today was no exception, the lined sheets were a pastel color (pink? orange?) and had small animal decorations at the bottom and top (he noticed that these came in "groups", the representative animal of these last ten notes was a smiling giraffe). It was incredibly adorable, and Chan found himself laughing softly every time he took out the contents of the envelope.

'Mondays are always hard! Especially this time of year (can't the professors trust in me and my knowledge of things? I don't see the need for them to take a test).

Anyway, Channie, this weekend I found myself thinking a lot about you, every time I start writing my reasons I feel like I'm going to be left speechless but then I remember that it's not difficult at all to love you. So here is another one:

Your resilience, I greatly admire your ability to always get up no matter how many blows life throws at you. The vast majority of us feel discouraged by the slightest inconvenience, but not you. And that is something incredible.

I hope you have a beautiful start to the week, remember to eat your meals and feel the sun.

Fondly,'

And that's how all the letters ended, the author seemed to hesitate every time they traced the last line, he could feel the uncertainty even on the paper. Chan knew that they were shy and always wondered when they were going to stop being to finally sign with their name and be able to meet that person who stole his heart with every word.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡

He was reading the note, hunched over his things, almost shielding the contents of the paper from the prying eyes of anyone who passed by him. You knew he was going to do it (he always did) but you couldn't stop your heart from racing like it was the first time it happened. You watched him from the hallway, hiding behind one of your textbooks while a silly smile appeared on your face, nothing made you happier than making him happy with your words, it's true what people say about "butterflies in the stomach" because that was what you were feeling right now.

His eyes crinkled in the most adorable way possible every time he smiled and from your spot in the hallway you could almost hear the sigh he let out after finishing reading the letter. After scanning his surroundings one last time, Chan placed the paper back into the envelope, and carefully placed it inside his notebook.

"You and your Shakespeare complex again" The sudden voice of your best friend so close made you jump in your place and drop the book you had in your hands. It hit the ground with a dull sound due to the thickness of its contents, and when you picked up the book again you turned around to face the figure of the perpetrator. He just laughed at you and your reaction, which earned him a closed-fist blow directly to his shoulder.

"You deserve it" You didn't even bother to return his reproachful gaze since he clearly felt like fighting, and instead, you returned your focus to Chan's classroom and his figure. He was no longer in his seat and you didn't want to look weird by leaning out the window door to look for him. So you sighed heavily and leaned your body against the wall while closing your eyes.

Until you felt Jeongin's presence come to your side "Are you going to tell him sometime?"

You didn't answer him.

Well, actually you did, with a growl that could mean either 'I'll do it today, stop bothering' or 'not even dead'. However, the blonde wasn't satisfied with your interpretation of an animal as a response and he began poking your ribs with his long fingers, drawing high-pitched sounds of protest from your lips.

"Stop it, Innie" You moved his hands away from your figure and stood firmly looking him in the eyes like a mother who is trying to discipline her misbehaving son. He crossed his arms with a satisfied smile crossing his face with foxlike features and, with a movement of his head, he invited you to speak.

"What do you want me to say? 'Hello Chan! It's me, the person who has been sending you letters like a fifteen-year-old for a year now. I've been in love with you since the moment I saw you at my best friend's house. Do you want to be my boyfriend?" You rolled your eyes tiredly and didn't wait for Jeongin to tell you what he thought, and so you started walking towards your classroom, with an exasperated five foot seven boy following closely behind you.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡

You still remembered the first time you'd seen him, and how couldn't you. His presence could illuminate even the darkest corner, and his personality attracted anyone around him.

It was the summer, and you'd gone to Jeongin's house to spend an afternoon together. The air conditioning in your apartment had broken two days ago, and you couldn't stand being in your room for another second, which was already beginning to feel like an industrial oven. When you arrived at your best friend's residence, you weren't surprised by the fact that there were more people than just the two of you. Jeongin was taking singing lessons at a nearby academy and had hit it off with some of his classmates; so while you didn't know them as well as he did, you had the chance to hang out with some of them a couple of times and you could say that they were the funniest guys you'd ever come across. Especially Hyunjin, who seemed to be like a glove with your best friend.

Jeongin's house felt cold, as if winter had come only for the Yang family and, although you shivered with every step you took towards the kitchen where voices could be heard, this felt like paradise compared to the hell you lived in your house (and you even thought it was cooler in hell).

Reaching the kitchen, you heard Hyunjin's melodious voice followed by his nasal, boisterous laughter at a comment Jeongin made. You shook your head laughing inwardly as you pushed the wooden door open to enter the space, the boys turning their heads in your direction as they heard the hinges snapping back into place.

Your best friend gave you his characteristic smile as he got up from his seat on one of the stools in front of the kitchen island to give you a small hug "I thought you weren't coming anymore!"

From Jeongin's shoulder you saw how Hyunjin gave you a smile and a wave, you tried to return the gesture as best you could considering that you were trapped in the arms of a boy who flatly stated that he didn't like hugs. It was getting long in your opinion, so you patted Jeongin on the back, letting him know that yes, you loved him very much, but you were still sticky with sweat from the walk in the sun and you didn't want to make him uncomfortable when he was so cool. When Jeongin let go of you, he opened his palm to introduce you to a person you hadn't seen before, "I hope you don't mind, that's Chan over there. He also goes to our academy, and he goes to university with us! Although he is a year ahead"

You smiled at Jeongin as you walked further into the kitchen to greet the new guest and in front of you stood one of the most attractive men you'd ever seen in your entire life. He wasn't very tall (you could tell even if he was sitting) but his broad shoulders gave him an intimidating presence, his hair looked messy in a swirl of brown curls, and although he was dressed from head to toe in black (you were sure his nails were painted that color too) on his face was a dimpled smile that took your breath away.

From one moment to the next you forgot how to articulate words and you felt like a fish opening and closing its mouth trying to find something to say, but your brain didn't seem to want to work.

You felt a small push on your right shoulder that took your body forward, towards the table, and towards Chan.

"How rude you are" Jeongin rolled his eyes, and although deep down you knew he was doing it to tease you, your cheeks turned red. You felt your tongue heavy in your mouth as the seconds passed and you were unable to utter a single word.

"Leave her alone, Innie. It's pretty hot outside, isn't it?" Chan's deep voice brought you out of your trance and forced you to look him in the eyes. He had a sincere smile on his face and was watching you with raised eyebrows, letting you know that he was going to listen to you when you wanted to respond.

Your heart did a complete turn in your chest, you were surprised in the best of ways at how friendly he was, the vast majority of boys with his attractiveness made that their only personality trait but he was attentive and considerate of all the people around him, even with complete strangers who hadn't stopped looking or saying anything to him in three minutes.

"Yes...yes, it's horrible! And the air conditioning in my house is broken and you can't imagine how hot it is! I feel like I'm going to die one of these days" The words came tumbling out of your mouth, since you hadn't had the time to stop and think about what exactly you wanted to say, and your nerves were playing the worst trick of your entire life.

Chan laughed again (even his laugh was pretty) and he nodded his head, not at all scared or surprised with the lexical vomit you just made.

"It must be like torture, really. You must be tired from the walk under the sun, why don't you sit down for a bit? The boys and I were planning to watch a movie" The brunette softly kicked one of the stools that were stored under the table in your direction.

You nodded shyly and took the seat he offered you, right in front of him. You left your phone on the cold marble of the table and looked around the kitchen for your best friend, you'd been surprised by the fact that he hadn't gotten into the conversation for five minutes and to be honest you desperately needed to focus on something other than Chan's penetrating gaze you felt on your face.

"Innie?" You called out to him with a small shout, loud enough for him to hear you even if he'd gone into the garden.

After a few seconds, your friend's blonde head peeked out of the left door that led to the living room, and a mischievous smile appeared on his face. "I'm sorry! Since you two were talking, we decided to go prepare things for the movie."

Jeongin paused and looked at you evilly, a look that you knew very well and that didn't give you a good feeling at all "Chan, why don't you prepare something to eat? I bought some snacks today, come when you have everything ready~" And before you could protest, he disappeared from your sight again while laughing and yelling something at Hyunjin.

You immediately tensed up and cursed Jeongin in your mind, how dare he leave you alone with your newfound crush. If he was getting revenge for the time you tried to play matchmaker and failed then he was being very childish, that'd been years ago!

While the insulting thoughts against your best friend and all his ancestors accumulated in your brain, from the corner of your eye you watched as Chan got up from his seat and went to the counter where the mentioned snacks and bowls of colors were located, apparently the prankster you called your best friend had already prepared the trap before you even arrived.

You didn't want to look weirder than you already felt so with your limbs shaking and making even the slightest of movements difficult; you also got up from your seat and slowly approached where Chan was, you stood next to him (close enough for him to know that you were willing to help but far enough not to invade his personal space).

He looked at you briefly and smiled sideways, and didn't say anything as he gently pushed a bowl towards you. The task wasn't very complicated per se, but it did become extremely difficult when the only thing you could focus on were the large, veiny hands of the boy next to you, you hadn't realized how attractive it was to see a man opening packets of potato chips and arranging them in a small container until now.

"Jeongin said we go to the same university, do you study the same as him?" You were startled by the sudden interruption of silence, you turned to look at Chan after finishing preparing the bowl with the nachos.

"Yes, I mean, no. We share some classes because some subjects are correlative in each one's career but I could never do the same as Innie" You smiled shyly and shook your head.

"I study psychology," You finally said and looked at your companion, who had his eyes open and bright like a puppy's (how could it be possible for a person to be incredibly attractive and adorable at the same time? It would have to be illegal), and you wondered what it was that'd amazed him so much, there were millions of other people studying the same thing as you.

Without meaning to, you raised an eyebrow; studying his reaction. He laughed again (it was something he loved to do, apparently) and turned his entire body towards you, resting his left hip against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest.

"That's incredible, the human mind is fascinating. I understand why you study that, for my part, I wouldn't read everything you have to read even if someone paid me."

You laughed loudly, infecting Chan as well. He was doing so with his whole body, his shoulders were shaking to the rhythm of his giggles and you could notice that, from time to time, a small squeak would appear in the sound of his laughter.

When the laughter died down, you looked at him again as you put the last bag of snacks in the cupboard in front of you.

"Yes, I mean, it's a lot to read but it's like you say. I'm interested in knowing the reason for behavior, and I would like to help people in the future. Mental health is something important" This last part came out in a whisper, you weren't used to revealing the reason for your career choice, most people told you that you should have chosen something that would make you rich in twenty years.

"That's incredible, I admire you a lot" Chan said in a soft voice, and you hadn't realized how close he'd gotten until you noticed the small touch of his fingers on your arm, the color quickly rose to your cheeks again and panic took over you, making you choke up when you spoke.

"Y-yes, thank you... not many think that way" And you moved your body away from his space; maybe a little abruptly but you were sure that if you continued in that position you were going to do or say something ridiculous, you couldn't trust your ability to reason at the moment.

Chan cleared his throat at your reaction and took two bowls in his hands, starting to walk towards the living room. You hadn't realized how loudly the other two boys were talking, were you so immersed in the situation to forget the outside world? Apparently yes.

"Are you done yet? The boys must be waiting" He stopped right in front of the door, waiting for you to take what you'd prepared.

You nodded softly, and after grabbing your preparations, you followed him into the living room.

You don't really remember what happened after that, you assume you watched the movies that the boys had already chosen before you arrived. You also don't remember if you had even paid attention, probably not, because you were very focused on keeping your breathing as normal as you could since unfortunately Hyunjin and Jeongin decided to each sit in an individual chair and by coincidence the only place left to sit was in the two-seat chair that your best friend's grandmother had given to his mother at her wedding, and conveniently Chan sat there too. So as the movie played on the screen, your heart raced with every accidental brush of your arms or legs against Chan's.

The only thing you remember clearly from that moment is that you couldn't help but look at his profile, trying to memorize every detail and every peculiarity of his expressions.

The rest of the summer felt like a haze, every time you made plans with Jeongin you knew Chan was going to be there. And that did nothing to dispel the feelings that were beginning to become more present with every minute you spent in his presence.

You liked him a little too much.

His kind nature and the way he treated everyone made you dizzy every time, but you were too shy to act on your feelings and unfortunately you weren't the only one who thought Chan was a good catch. Every now and then different girls approached him to ask him out, and although he always rejected them; you couldn't help but feel a little insecure about the situation. And there was also the small problem that he confessed to you one night in Hyunjin's garden: his last relationship had been somewhat toxic, and although it ended years ago, he was deeply hurt and didn't feel ready yet to fall for someone again.

That confession left a sour taste in your mouth, so you decided not to actively act on your feelings, you really didn't want to make Chan uncomfortable or force him into something he didn't want to do, let alone ruin the friendship you were building. But something as strong as love cannot be contained, and one sleepless night you found yourself scribbling in your notebook the things you wanted to say to him, the things you liked about him, and how he made you feel when you looked at him.

You weren't thinking when you left the first envelope on his desk, it was a completely impulsive decision that you regretted the moment you left his classroom. But when you turned around to go back and throw the letter into the trash, he already found it.

At first he didn't read them, you knew because you'd overheard when he mentioned it to Hyunjin during an outing the three of you made, Chan believed that one of his friends was playing a prank on him.

And that was the last straw that broke the camel's back, although you told yourself that you weren't going to write anymore letters for the sake of your friendship and your own feelings you had to let him know (even if anonymously) that he was someone worthy of love and that he wasn't what the people in his past made him believe he was.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡

Once you arrived at the classroom (miraculously before the professor, you didn't think you could endure another lecture and there were still three more hours before leaving the university) you sat down in your respective seat by the window. The day was really beautiful, and from your place you could see the large patio where the entire student body went to relax between classes, it was your favorite place in the entire building and at this moment you wanted nothing more than to be leaning against a tree feeling the warm sunlight on your face.

"I'm not saying you have to tell him that but don't you think it's been too long already?" Jeongin didn't seem to want to drop the topic for today, he'd gotten up from his seat taking advantage of the fact that there was still no sign of the teacher and sat at your table, almost knocking all the things that were on top of it to the floor. You rested your head on the bench and waved a hand in the air, brushing it off in an attempt to say 'leave me alone already'.

Your best friend snorted exasperatedly, "You really are a special case, you've been in love with him for a year, for God's sake."

At the boy's aggressive tone of voice, you took your head off the table and looked at him with a frown. He looked back at you like he always did: challenging and forcing you to speak for yourself.

"It's not as easy as you say, Jeongin" You spat angrily.

"For all I know, if he finds out, he could throw my stupid letters in the trash and confessing would not only make me look weird but it would also ruin the friendship we have" You lowered your face, feeling a little sad "And the last thing I would like to do is lose him"

Jeongin’s expression softened as he realized the depth of your anxiety, and he reached out to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I get it, I really do. You don't want to jeopardize what you have but you deserve happiness too, you know? Maybe it's time to take a risk."

“I don’t even think I have a chance” You sighed, feeling defeated.

Jeongin moved closer and lowered his voice conspiratorially, "You may have more possibilities than you think, but sometimes you have to give destiny a little push."

You raised an eyebrow at his choice of words and just as you were about to question him further, the professor made an appearance in the classroom ordering everyone to take their respective seats and apologizing for the delay. Your best friend flashed you a bright smile with his trademark dimples and snuck over to his table, effectively ending the conversation and leaving you wondering what he meant for the rest of the day.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡

If Jeongin's plan was for you to not sleep for a week, then he'd achieved it. His words had been spinning through your head like a whirlpool that seemed to have no end. You knew that he'd been friends with the brunette for a longer time than you, but were they close enough that the youngest knew the secrets inside Chan's heart?

Or was he giving you the advice that all friends gave to their other friends desperate to believe in the illusion that the person they like reciprocates their feelings? No, Jeongin wouldn't do that, he was too honest for his own good and besides you'd known each other longer (your mothers said you were born to be friends). So did that mean there really was a chance?

No, of course not, that was ridiculous.

You shook your head in an attempt to get rid of those thoughts as you rang the doorbell at Hyunjin's house. Your group had agreed to meet to study and you needed to have a clear mind, the exams were around the corner and you couldn't afford to keep your brain preoccupied thinking about something that would never happen.

The minutes passed slowly as you waited for the homeowner, and while you were thinking about ringing the doorbell again fearing that the boys inside hadn't heard you, the door suddenly opened, and nothing could have prepared you to see the person who has been living rent free in your mind, you knew he would be there, but you didn't expect to face him so quickly.

"Hey, you arrived just in time, Hyunjin's mom just brought us some drinks" Chan was his usual self, with his beautiful smile plastered on his face and his relaxed attitude.

You blinked once, twice, three times before you managed a small forced smile and responded, "Oh, great, thanks," and you stood there in silence, unable to look him in the eyes.

Chan tilted his head in silent question at your attitude, "Is everything okay?"

His concern for your well-being was evident in his voice and he struck a chord in your heart. You looked at him briefly, meeting his gaze for a fleeting moment and nodded, still struggling to find your voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You finally responded, trying to sound casual despite the jumble of emotions inside you.

Chan's friendly demeanor never wavered as he led you into the house, you followed him with a notable distance between your bodies and so when you arrived at the living room where the boys were already seated with open textbooks and a monstrous amount of things to eat you almost ran to sit next to Jeongin, an attitude that didn't go unnoticed by the blonde, who looked at you with his eyebrows raised in a telepathic question.

Meanwhile, Chan didn't take his eyes off you as he sat next to Hyunjin on the couch in front of where you and your best friend were.

The afternoon went by slowly, too slowly for your liking, you'd gone with all the desire to study and get your mind out of the anxiety that was consuming you, but that attempt had been futile.

Although your gaze remained glued to your notes and your blue highlighter (which hadn't highlighted anything in the last hour, you'd read the same paragraph five times without getting a clue of what it was trying to say) you felt how two eyes were burning holes in your figure. The room was suffocatingly silent, and you were sure that your irregular breathing was evident to the entire group; your nerves were so on edge that when your best friend's voice filled the void you almost jumped in your place.

"I'm tired, how about we take a break?"Jeongin raised his arms towards the ceiling, stretching his back and then collapsing gracelessly against the soft cushions of the sofa.

Hyunjin nodded while massaging his neck, stiff after so many hours of looking down at his notes and reading "I thought no one was going to say it, I was going crazy."

Chan didn't say anything, he just closed his notebooks and imitated Jeongin in his relaxed pose against the couch. You felt out of place when the boys started chatting about meaningless things to lighten the atmosphere.

You only nodded when you felt your input was necessary, or laughed when you thought that was the reaction you should have but you didn't speak, because in fact, you weren't sure you were going to say anything coherent or at least make your voice louder than a whisper, so you decided that the best course of action was to stay quiet.

If the boys noticed it, they didn't say anything, and you couldn't be more grateful for it.

"You know" Chan interrupted the laughter of the other two boys after a not-so-funny story told by Hyunjin.

Everyone focused their attention on him, the tone of voice he'd used was more serious than his usual; so serious that it forced you to look up for the first time since the recess began and you found Chan's brown eyes looking directly at you, doing it so intensely that you thought he was staring right into your soul.

You held your breath, but you weren't prepared for what he said next.

"My secret admirer hasn't written to me in a few days" He was still looking at you, but there was something strange hidden in his irises, something you couldn't decipher.

Silence once again took over Hyunjin's living room, and the tension could be cut with a knife, it almost seemed like time had stopped when the brunette pronounced the last syllable. Your mouth felt dry, and your palms began to sweat. The weight of his words floated in the air and a thousand thoughts passed through your mind, each one more disconcerting than the last.

Hyunjin snorted, and looked maliciously at Chan "Maybe they are tired of you."

His mocking comment broke the heavy silence like thunder. Jeongin joined in with a playful smile, taking the opportunity to tease Chan mercilessly. “Maybe your secret admirer found someone else,” he joked, his tone light and teasing, “Or maybe they are just playing hard to get.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, wanting to burst while the boys laughed at Chan's expense while he, in response, rolled his eyes and smiled sarcastically at the jokes that his friends kept saying, he also looked at you from time to time making your discomfort even more evident.

You desperately searched for words to contribute to the conversation, your voice choked by the rising anxiety. But as Jeongin and Hyunjin's playful teasing continued, you remained silent, feeling like a bystander in a conversation that was becoming more cryptic by the second. Chan's gaze never left you, and despite the teasing, there was something in his eyes that betrayed a deeper understanding. His comment felt like a puzzle piece falling into place, yet you couldn't put your finger on what he truly knew.

As the laughter subsided, the room descended into an awkward silence once more, and then Chan finally spoke up, his tone more subdued than before. "Well, whoever it is," he began, his eyes still locked on yours, "I hope they know they've brightened my days with their letters."

The comment hung in the air, carrying a weight that seemed to pull everyone into its gravity. Jeongin and Hyunjin exchanged glances, their playful demeanor suddenly giving way to something more conspiracy.

You, on the other hand, felt an overwhelming mix of emotions. The anxiety that'd been building throughout the day reached a crescendo. You wanted to say something, to respond in some way, but the words caught in your throat.

Hyunjin broke the silence once more, this time with a touch of sincerity in his voice. "Whoever they are," he said, "they must really care about you, man." Jeongin nodded in agreement, and the room seemed to shift, it was a subtle transformation, but one that you couldn't help but notice.

Chan smiled, a genuine one that reached his eyes. "Yeah," he admitted, "They do mean a lot to me."

You desperately needed a moment to collect your thoughts and emotions after that serious conversation, so you mumbled something about getting a drink from the kitchen, excusing yourself with a weak smile and slowly, you retreated from the living room, the voices of the boys fading as you put some distance between you and the group.

In the dimly lit kitchen, you leaned against the countertop, your heart still racing from the tension in the room. The realization that Chan cherished those anonymous letters hit you like a ton of bricks. You'd never imagined how much they meant to him.

Just as you were lost in thought, the sound of footsteps behind you made you jump. You turned to find Chan standing there, a serious yet gentle expression on his face. His presence seemed to fill the room with warmth, and your anxiety ratcheted up another notch.

"Hey," he said softly, "You okay?"

You nodded, unable to form words an he took a step closer, his gaze never left yours.

Chan's brown eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world had frozen around you. You couldn't contain the thoughts racing through your mind any longer. With a trembling voice, you finally asked the question that'd been gnawing at you.

"Do you know who's been sending those letters?"

Chan's expression remained calm, but you could see a glimmer of something in his eyes, a hint of knowing. He didn't answer immediately, instead, he stepped closer, narrowing the distance between you.

His voice was soft as he replied, "I have a feeling I might have a clue."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you searched his face for more hints. What did he mean by 'a clue'? It was clear he was being deliberately vague, and it only added to your curiosity.

"But," he continued, "I'd like to hear it from you. Tell me, do you know who it is?"

You hesitated, the weight of the truth pressing down on you. The walls between you and Chan seemed to dissolve, and the vulnerability in his eyes was mirrored in your own. With a shaky breath, you summoned the courage to speak, your voice quivering with fear and anticipation.

"It's me."

The admission hung in the air, heavy and uncertain. You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, your eyes locked on the floor as you waited for his reaction. The seconds felt like hours as you replayed all the letters, and the emotions you'd poured into them.

Chan's silence stretched, and the tension in the room became palpable. Your heart raced, and you feared the worst — rejection, awkwardness, or even laughter.

Then, he reached out, gently lifting your chin with his fingers, forcing you to look into his eyes. The warmth and kindness in his gaze melted away your fears.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice soft and sincere. "I've cherished every single one."

As tears welled up in your eyes, Chan reached out to gently wipe them away with his thumb. He pulled you into a comforting embrace, holding you close as your emotions overwhelmed you. You couldn't hold back the tears any longer, and they flowed freely as you nestled into his embrace. He whispered soothing words, his voice a balm to your soul, reassuring you that everything would be okay.

After a moment of shared comfort, you pulled away slightly, looking up at him with curiosity. "But how did you know it was me?" you finally asked, your voice still trembling.

Chan smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, a knowing twinkle in his eye, and replied, "I had my suspicions, especially after some of the things you wrote. But what really gave it away was your handwriting."

You blinked in surprise.

Handwriting? You hadn't considered that, no, haven't even thought about it when you started this a year ago, and to be honest you felt a little dumb.

Chan continued, "I recognized your handwriting from a birthday card you gave me a while back. It was similar to the writing in the letters. And then, well, I saw you looking at me during our hangouts, and it all just started to make sense."

You blushed, feeling a mix of embarrassment and relief. It seemed like you'd left more clues than you thought. But instead of feeling exposed, you felt a strange sense of comfort knowing that he'd noticed your feelings all along.

With a shy smile, you said, "I guess I'm not very good at hiding my feelings, am I?"

Chan chuckled softly. "No, but that's okay. I'm glad you told me."

As you gazed into Chan's eyes, you noticed something change in his expression. The initial surprise and curiosity gave way to a more tender, understanding look. He cupped your face gently, his touch warm and reassuring.

"You know," he began softly, "I've always appreciated those letters. They made me feel special, like someone out there truly understood me. And I never wanted to pressure you into revealing yourself," Chan continued. "I wanted you to do it when you were ready."

"I was just afraid," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Afraid of what you might think, of how it might change things between us."

Chan's thumb traced small circles on your cheek as he reassured you, "Don't be. This doesn't change how I feel about what we have. If anything, it makes it even more special."

A tear escaped from the corner of your eye, but this time, it wasn't a tear of anxiety or fear. It was a tear of relief, of happiness. You leaned into Chan's touch, and he leaned closer, his eyes locked on yours, and before you knew it, his lips met yours in a soft, gentle kiss. The world seemed to melt away as your lips met his, you felt the warmth of his body against yours, and the sensation sent shivers down your spine. His hands cradled your face, holding you gently but firmly, as if he never wanted to let you go.

The taste of his lips was sweet and comforting, like a warm embrace on a cold winter's day, you could feel the steady beat of Chan's heart, matching the rhythm of your own. The world around you disappeared, and there was only the two of you.

And just as you were lost in that sweet moment, the kitchen door burst open, and in walked your friends, their playful banter filling the room while wearing grins so wide they threatened to split their faces. Jeongin couldn't help but tease you, waggling his eyebrows playfully. "Well, well, looks like someone finally got the courage to make a move!"

Hyunjin joined in with a mock-sympathetic tone. "And here we thought we'd have to wait another century for this to happen!"

You blushed furiously, pulling away from Chan who chuckled in amusement, still holding you close. "You guys have impeccable timing," he remarked, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Jeongin winked at you, "Hey! We're just glad we won't have to hear you two mooning over each other anymore."

#stray kids fluff #bang chan fluff #bang chan x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz soft thoughts #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz fluff #stray kids x reader #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #bri writes

884 notes · View notes

takerfoxx · 3 months

Note

I'm so fucking confused what did the Rock do

It's a very long and complicated tale, but the short version, the Rock recently joined the board of directors for TKO (WWE's parent company) and SEEMINGLY (as we don't know the full behind the scenes story just yet) used his clout to push himself into the Wrestlemania main event, challenging his sort of cousin Roman Reigns for the WWE Universal Championship and pushing aside Cody Rhodes, the guy that was supposed to be Roman's challenger, and thereby sabotaging a two-year story that everyone was invested in right when it was about to see it's conclusion. And people are pissed about it.

That's the short version. Here is the loooooonnnnnggggg version.

WWE has been plagued by a number of issues over the years (not the least being that it's been run by an actual rapist for the last four decades), but the two relevant issues is a tendency to rely on past their prime stars of yesterday at the expense of building new stars for today, and when they do want to build a new star, they have a bad habit of shoving their chosen golden boy down everyone's throat to everyone else's detriment in a nakedly inauthentic manner until the fans get sick of them (see: Ultimate Warrior, John Cena, and, most recently, Roman Reigns, who will become important later). Needless to say, they've had a lot of trouble getting the crowd behind what is known as the White Meat Babyface, or primary good guy.

The Rock started off as the latter, being introduced as Rocky Maivia, who was a wholesome good boy who was just so happy to be here. People saw through it and booed the fuck out of him. In rare case of the WWE actually listening and responding, they turned Rocky heel and let him vent his frustrations at the fans, which let everyone know that, holy shit, this guy is actually insanely charismatic and probably the best trash talker in the business! Thus, the Rock was born.

However, while he certainly earned his accolades during his heyday, his returns since haven't been so universally admired (see previous note about the WWE pushing the stars of yesterday). One instance about ten years ago involves him main eventing Wrestlemania against John Cena over CM Punk, who was the reigning WWE Champion at the time, and was quite annoyed. Okay, the Rock vs. John Cena could be excused on account of being that much of a dream match, but then they had CM Punk end his year long title run to the Rock so he and Cena could main event again, this time with the title on the line. This was one of the many issues that reportedly led to CM Punk walking out a few months later.

Now, let's move away from the Rock for a bit and talk about Roman Reigns, who was another example of the WWE ramming their chosen golden boy down everyone's throat. Like the Rock, he is part of the venerated Anoa'i Family, who are practically wrestling royalty with how many superstars they've produced (though they're not actually related by blood, but that doesn't matter, as those who marry or are adopted in are still considered full members of the clan).

Roman began as part of the massively popular trio known as the Shield, alongside Seth Rollins and Dean Ambrose. And during their two year run, the Shield were kind of incredibly awesome. Three badasses closer than brothers just wrecking a path of destruction against all those who stood in their way, a perfect combination of violence and genuine comradery...right until Seth Rollins betrayed the group and they all became single stars.

Now, despite the WWE having high hopes for all three, Roman was clearly the anointed heir, despite being the least experienced of the three. Unfortunately, they went about this by making him essentially a John Cena clone. Smelling another corporate babyface about to be shoved down their throats, the fans turned on him and turned on him HARD, making him the most loathed face in wrestling for years despite always being treated by the company as a beloved hero. Finally, the decision was made to turn Roman Reigns heel, unleashing his dark side and turning him into the Tribal Chief, a sadistic and manipulative monster who's held an iron grip on the title for literally years. Needless to say, it has been a massive improvement, and he is now quite awesome (though people are sick of how long he's been champion, but that's neither here nor there).

Anyway, heel Roman has been champion for basically forever at this point, and it's been a question of who will eventually be the one to dethrone him, because whoever it is automatically becomes the biggest star in the business. And given what an accomplishment that is, there really can be no place it can happen other than the main event of Wrestlemania.

Enter Cody Rhodes.

Like Roman and the Rock, Cody also comes from a prestigious wrestling family. Cody is the son of the late, great Dusty Rhodes, the American Dream. And this pedigree has weighed heavily on him, both in and out of storyline.

Now, unlike his plain-looking and tubby father, Cody looks like he was grown in a lab to become the perfect WWE wrestler. Movie star looks, an absolutely ripped body, and physical charisma for days. Despite this, his first WWE run didn't go how he wanted. While he saw a fair amount of success, he never seemed to break out of the midcard and was eventually saddled with the loathed Stardust gimmick, which he absolutely hated, and after realizing that things weren't going to change, he decided to bet on himself and leave the WWE to prove everyone wrong.

This ended up working beyond anyone's wildest dreams.

To say that Cody was successful post WWE would be a gross understatement. Rebranding himself as the American Nightmare, Cody became the opposite of everything his father was, dressing in snappy suits and carrying himself in an arrogant, sadistic manner. He worked for a number of places, from TNA to Ring of Honor to New Japan, and saw massive success, winning multiple titles across multiple promotions and building himself as a force to be reckoned with. He was also the impetus for the historically significant All In event, in which a number of wrestlers from a number of different promotions banded together to put on the first non-WWE show to have over ten thousand people in attendance in over twenty years, which eventually led to the creation of AEW, which Cody was an intrinsic part of as well. Needless to say, Cody was cooking.

Unfortunately, his own way of doing things didn't mesh well with the AEW audience, and they turned on him pretty hard after a year or two. Eventually he left to return to the WWE, and a lot of people questioned if he was making a mistake, given how he was treated the last time.

However, his gamble had paid off. His worth had been proved, and now WWE was all in (pun intended) on Cody Rhodes. In contrast to the volatile AEW crowd, the WWE fans welcomed the prodigal son back with open arms. And surprising all cynics (including myself), this love continued strong even after the novelty of Cody Rhodes back wore off, probably bolstered by how carefully his storylines were plotted, some truly killer performances in the ring, and the respect garner by him being an absolutely fucking champ and wrestling Seth Rollins in a Hell in a Cell match despite having a horribly torn pec.

Finally, the WWE had a White Meat babyface that the fans universally accepted and wanted to see more of, and they were going to capitalize. He won the Royal Rumble to rapturous applause and entered in a program with Roman Reigns to challenge him for his title at Wrestlemania. And unlike other challengers, he actually seemed like a credible threat. Much was made about how his father had also challenged for the same title but could never capture it, so he wanted to do what his father couldn't and finish the story. People were behind Cody all the way, and the time seemed right for Roman to finally fall and a new top star to be crowned.

And then Cody lost. Roman cheated, and Cody lost.

Needless to say, people were pissed. However, others said that maybe this was leading to a rematch at the following year's Wrestlemania, making his eventual victory all the sweeter. Certainly, WWE still seemed behind Cody, as he spent the next year in several high profile feuds that kept him looking strong, including going over Brock Lesnar of all people. And again, the fans remained behind him, when in past cases they would have turned on the guy by now. Believe me, this hadn't happened in a very long time.

But not all was well. There were rumbles that the Rock might be queuing up for a return one of these days, possibly to finally face Roman Reigns in another dream match to settle who the true Tribal Chief of the Anoa's family. People had been wanting that match for years, but for it to happen now, upsetting Cody's chance to finally finish his story? Well, that was the worst possible time. However, these rumors seemed to be nothing more than that. Just rumors.

And then CM Punk came back.

Now, Punk is a whole can of worms all in himself, and could easily fill a full post of his own. But the important thing is that he and Cody are very much dark reflections of each other, especially in how both were screwed over by WWE during their first runs, left under dark circumstances, and returned to the fans' adoration. And they both coveted that Wrestlemania main event.

In fact, during an awesome promo battle between the two, Punk specifically pointed out that he intended to do to Cody what the Rock had done to him ten years ago: be that bigger star who came back after not being around for a long time and take that Wrestlemania main event away. And sure enough, during the Royal Rumble, the final two in the ring were CM Punk and Cody Rhodes.

And Cody won. The first man in years to win back to back Rumbles. He singled out Roman Reigns as his target, cementing their Wrestlemania rematch. As for Punk, he had a main event of his own, as he was apparently scheduled to face Seth Rollins for the World Heavyweight Title at night 1 of Wrestlemania. It seemed that both of the prodigal sons were getting their wish!

And then CM Punk got hurt really bad and had to pull out of Wrestlemania.

Well, that sucks, but it shouldn't upset plans too badly. Seth could just wrestle someone else, and Cody's two year story could proceed like everyone wanted.

Well, we all know what happened next.

youtube

Yup. It happened. The Rock, likely with the backing of his new position on the TKO's board, had pushed himself into Cody's spot, while Cody (as it appears) will be replacing Punk to take on Seth Rollins instead. A two year story, flushed down the drain. Punk's words had turned out to be prophetic.

And while the fans were cheering in that video, once the buzz had worn off and people realized what had happened, that's when things got nasty. Over the last few days, people have turned on the Rock and turned on him HARD. Rocky sucks chants fill WWE events, #wewantcody trends for days, videos of the Rock get booed, and (unfortunately) even members of his family have gotten caught in the crossfire. People are NOT happy about this direction. Cody is their guy, and right when his story was going to be completed, right when Roman was going to be dethroned by the guy that everyone wanted to see beat him, this happens.

Plus, since then reports have been swirling that this decision was made by the TKO board, not WWE, with the Rock specifically pushing for it to "Save Wrestlemania." Which hasn't exactly warmed people to the idea.

Which is really funny, because the last time Roman Reigns and the Rock shared a ring together, it was in the middle of Roman's disastrous babyface run where the fans hated him, especially in Philadelphia, a city noted for its rebellious fans, and the WWE sent the Rock out to help Roman in hopes of changing their minds.

It didn't work.

youtube

And where is Wrestlemania this year? Oh right, Philadelphia.

This is going to be...interesting, to say the least.

#wwe #cody rhodes #the rock #roman reigns #cm punk #wrestlemania

269 notes · View notes

dweemeister · 1 month

Text

Instant reactions to the 96th Academy Awards

A rough night for me. But there have been rougher ones before. I imagine most of my comments put me in a very lonely minority, as has been apparent the last few months.

But here goes:

For all intents and purposes, yours truly was on the Killers of the Flower Moon train. An extraordinary crime epic from Scorsese, with astounding craftsmanship and fantastic performance from Lily Gladstone. More than what I previously believed possible, a major studio production went out of its way to make sure that its Indigenous American representation on-screen was as genuine as it could possibly be (still imperfect, as the film acknowledges, but what an effort). And yet, KOTFM goes 0/10. I've never had a favored Best Picture nominee be shut out in such a way before. And I'm not surprised at all by it. It was clear that non-American and non-Canadian audiences didn't get the context to the film (a criticism I understand, given the screenplay) and, in other quarters, folks thought it was too long (I admittedly have a higher tolerance for longer movies) and others have said something akin to the fact that they are getting tired over "racial guilt" movies from America. I'm not in the mood to respond to the last one. I think it deserved better tonight. I particularly think Lily Gladstone deserved better tonight.

Stat upheld: two non-white actresses have never won on the same night in Oscar history. History, in and of itself, was always against Gladstone.

Oppenheimer winning? Fine, I guess. It was my #4 choice of the ten Best Picture nominees. I guess Christopher Nolan was overdue, but I have always been a Nolan skeptic. The film certainly is his most humanistic, and I appreciate that. As for the narrative organization and editing trickery? It mostly serves to take me out of the movie. And I don't think Nolan truly understands what thematic film music can accomplish for his movies. I think RDJ should have had much more competition all season long, but he did not. Most people are gonna say this is the return of the Academy's favorite subgenre... the Great Man Biopic. But in composition and structure, Oppenheimer (and even Maestro) resembles very little of the past Great Man Biopics. It'll be interesting to see how history treats this movie.

I disliked Poor Things. I didn't care for its sense of humor, didn't agree with many folks' opinions that it was a magnum opus of female empowerment. I thought it was incredibly male gaze-y and troublingly sanitized its scenes of sex work. Jerskin Fendrix's score was unlistenable outside the context of the film and distracting within it. But it has four Academy Awards and people love this movie, so my opinion can go to heck?

Well done Da'Vine Joy Randolph for her win as Supporting Actress for The Holdovers. I truly hope this opens up a lot more new opportunities for her going for! Wonderful speech.

And speaking of wonderful speeches, both documentary winners got me very emotional. The Last Repair Shop is on YouTube for American and Canadian viewers, and it's simply wonderful. Perhaps the happiest I was all night long! And then came Mstyslav Chernov's speech after winning for 20 Days in Mariupol. Chernov had, arguably, the speech of the night. And I agree with him. I, too, wish he never had to make his film and that he never won this Oscar. But he did his job to document what happened in Mariupol. And for that he (and the Ukrainians suffering and dying in their war versus Russia) deserves our plaudits and support.

Once more, Hayao Miyazaki cannot be bothered to show up to an awards ceremony. It's hilarious! I would have voted Robot Dreams, but The Boy and the Heron is not a winner to sniff at. Spider-Verse will have one more shot.... whenever the third movie comes out?

Good lord, they selected the worst possible winner in Animated Short with War Is Over!. There's an unwritten rule that the Academy, among the fifteen nominated shorts, must select one which will piss me the hell off. And for the second straight year in Animated Short, they have done exactly that, choosing something akin to a soft drink commercial.

Billie Eilish and Finneas are now the youngest and second-youngest ever to win two Oscars, after Luise Rainer (Best Actress for 1936's The Great Ziegfeld and 1937's The Good Earth). That feels very, very weird. In both cases of this record.

The "I'm Just Ken" performance? Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (Like Ken)??? Busby Berkeley choreography? What do the kids say? Inject that straight into my veins? It was wonderful.

And speaking of nods to cinema history, I'm so glad they led off the stunt performers tribute with Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and Harold Lloyd. :,)

And congratulations to Godzilla Minus One and its Best Visual Effects win! After seventy years, Godzilla is now an Oscar-winning franchise, and its win percentage is 100%! Simply wonderful!

I think the moral of the story is that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS) has been gradually internationalizing over the last decade. And the results of that were very clear tonight. Does that mean I'm too provincial in my tastes? I don't know. But wins such as Emma Stone's, Anatomy of a Fall, The Boy and the Heron, and Godzilla are demonstrative of that.

I'm glad this season is over. I certainly hope that Killers of the Flower Moon will be looked upon more kindly by history and time, without the bells and whistles of awards campaigning and a fuller understanding of why it was made the way it was.

This month has been fun! But now it's time to see movies again without the lens of awards for a long, long while.

64 notes · View notes

minzart · 2 months

Text

A quick fix me up

Vox / reader

Unresolved sexual tension - ehhh +16 maybe? It's not really that explicit I think? - the eroticism of fixing a robot

Ao3

It had a been a fucking month, and the tech overlord could still feel the collateral damage of his - very purposeful, not at all accidental - melt down, tantrum, accident caused by that prick of an ultrapassed piece of junk still affecting his processing and it was getting on his nerves that he might feel the need to reboot for the second time this day before he has to peel more faux skin off his body.

And to top it all of, Val had to just still be obsessing over his fucking whore of a spider, noooo because the sixteen hour long shots had to be done today, he can't fucking relax or try to take his mind of the double work he has to do now that Alastor is back and viewership is decaying gradually, it's not like the pimp is the fucking director and can't just take half an hour to a quicky and be done with it.

Fucks sake when Valentino wants to fuck it's not a matter of yes, not even when, it's a now and be damned his screen if he denies the petty princess anything, but when he wants to fuck, and Angel Dust is at the vicinity, it has to have star alignment to convince the moth demon to even take his eyes of his fucking bitch for even two seconds.

He can feel another glitch happening at his screen, left eyes of all places, making his vision spin and change colors. He is tired, he is bothered, he is furious, he is stressed and he is still glitching. With a sigh of defeat Vox finally decides to call the person who can, at the very least, fix one of his many problems, his personal doctor, or should he call you his trusted mechanic, he settles for old -friend- acquaintance.

The logo of your business bounces in the closest screen, he misses when it was your face, not that he will ever let you know that, it's late and yet your voice, groggy and annoyed answered his call anyways.

“it's three in the fucking morning Vox what the fuck do you want” it's only your voice, no matter how many times he tried to force the video calls you never let your camera work properly, a quirky “fuck you” to him you had said once.

“gOOdNiiiGggth to yOu tOOo” he tries his best to say you name energetically, but the stupid glitch won't let his usual charisma take roots, at the end he sighs and groans.

“...... what the fuck did you do to your voice box this time, if I have to get cum out of it again I swea-” the sounds of sheets moving informs him that you were in fact probably sleeping, joy, he was the only one with trouble sleeping then.

“JUsrt gggEt yoR aSS hERe” he disconnects the call from your end.

“alright fine, fine I'm going” you talk to air, and he stills hears you because it's better than to give his attention to whatever is happening upstairs right now, not in the patience for it “I know you can still hear me you control freak, get your ass moving to the closest sofa before I have to drag your corpse from your fucking evil lair”

He chuckles, it would be funny if he wasn't actually hearing you, and it did happened before, your pissed face was priceless at the time, his body is ten times more difficult to command but he manages to enter in the elevator and out to the suit, Velvette is at her side of the tower getting her beauty sleep and Val “working”, leaving him with the space for himself and finally tranquility.

The television tunes to the nearest camera at your house, and he let's his mind wanders waiting for you to arrive. You were locking your door of the apartment when he sees a foot inside your house stopping it from closing, he changes the camera in annoyance who the fuck was there? Last time he checked you didn't have a new roommate since him, and it was fucking eons ago, and no fucking camera at that building is good enough to look inside your house, shit.

You two were talking, your hand goes up gently, your face disappear from frame, oh it's a whore, because of fucking course it is, but then you smile and walks away, leaving whoever the fuck was that inside, that couldn't be a partner could it? No, no way, you wouldn't, but who let's a fucking whore alone in your house in hell, no, scratch that, you, specifically, never fucking even let whores in since he remembers knowing you in this damned place, too paranoid for it, so who the fuck was that.

The overlord can feel heat building in his chest, twisting his insides and acid in his mouth. It was not a good day, nor a good week, nor a good month, he wouldn't call himself an easy jealous man, absolutely never, why would he even get jealous??? He's powerful, he's famous, he's rich, fuck he is ten time the man he was dead than alive. And still… and still he never is the first priority of nobody he could even call the closest thing hell can offer as friends.

Not for Val who would offer amazing sex but God if it didn't get tiring the temper tantrums, not to mention the several PR nightmares he has to cover; not for Vel who still has the best head on her shoulder of the three of them, but was God awful at listening to anything but her voice; not to his audience slowly slipping out of his grasp; not for his stars who only suck him up for a rise; not even for his fucking rival who hasn't even tried to rile him up since he came fucking back; and definitively not for you who was at the door of the company at three in the morning leaving whoever a sweetheart that stranger might be alone just because he called with a glitch voice...

He slowly gets his hand away from his face, grip so tight he could feel the holes it left dripping blue down his sides, vision black and white, and opens the automatic door for you with a snap of fingers. The lights are off and the second the security comes to you, you flash your ID card of the company, and go to the elevator without exchanging a word with the demon. It closes the second you are in and automatically sets your destination to the low levels of the V tower.

He hears the ping of the elevator opening and your footsteps getting closer, the TV now off. “alright let me see the damage”

You lift his head gently, peel the layers of clothes mechanically, and move the coffee table closer, your expression is of professionalism, neutral, and bags in your eyes”can you talk?”

“wwWhaAT dOdo-youu ThinnnK?” he answers and mentally grabs at the relief fraction of expression you show.

“ok, wires not completely busted” you unscrew his face and get to work, always precise, always gentle, you have always been gentle, he remembers meeting you, countless of years ago, a demon specializing in upgrading sinners with mechanical bodies, he remembers his rising days with a touch of bitterness, determination and a little bit of fondness, you were the first he ever trusted to ever exchange his screen when it broke when he still was scared of a second death.

He can hear you walking around, probably looking for the spare parts he has, and comes back as quickly. It's nice, he feels nice, relaxed, strange how a semblance of care can melt away his nerves is a good way. You are not even thinking about your motions, he can tell, and yet Vox let's himself bask in this fraction of attention a little, a lot, every little touch every little check he feels he commits to memory and replays over and over again.

From his face to his back and now he can feel your hands inside him adjusting wires and peeling melted wax that is where it shouldn't be because “your last black out made your cooling system kiss your ass goodbye so I'm gonna replace this too and you are gonna have to get new fake skin” and he couldn't be happier right now since it makes you stay a little while longer.

It's weird, he fucking knows that, he knows, he knows how weird it is feeling you be so fucking gentle and profession and getting off to it, and fuck if having you right there behind him didn't gave him an adrenalin burst, would you notice? Have you noticed how he can feel his insides hum in pleasure every time you fix him inside? You must, come on, it's so very obvious he's hotter than normal, it's not even funny.

And his mind just runs in it too, colors coming back to his vision, and his mind isn't even close to reality, his pants are tight and he wants to just grind so fucking bad to get some friction going down there, he feels one of your hands pin him in place, firmily sat, and he wishes it was to pin him down and- fuck, he feels electricity run around his whole body, you flinch breaking all contact and he has to bless his luck that he doesn't have a working voice box right now because he feels he just whimpered at the lost of contact “You good bud?”

He shudders and nods frantically, a little bit of panic building in his gut, fuck he can feel his pants are not dry, goddammit “lay down” you want to kill him, you definitively want to kill him, he will play that command on loop next time he gets this fucking needy.

He does as you ask, and has half a mind to not just plant his face between the pillows, he has to play it cool, he has to, his ego won't let him otherwise, the sofa shifts you are sitting besides his back and keep working, a new voice box being placed and carefully connected, he wishes you would have opted to just sit on him instead, the weight might have helped his too energetic body to calm the fuck down, it had in the past. He grips his forearms to try and focus on anything else but the new feeling of your fingers closing his back and making sure it's closed properly, he already is playing with fire just for having that erection again and now he has a voice and he doesn't trust it to say any more words.

“want to talk about what got you so stressed at three in the morning?” he can hear you yawning, sliding down the sofa, and as he turns to see where you're going, he meets you at eye level, you are sitting at the ground, arms crossed besides his head as a makeshift pillow for your own and attention fully, undoubtedly, on him only.

He can feel his eyes widen, and antennas snap up as a little wave of electricity pass between then, he has three seconds of blue screen before he is back with a smirk in his smug face “why absolutely nothing, i just needed a little fixing it's all and day time it's such a busy time you know, couldn't schedule it for later”

“hmhu” you deadpan his sales persona “alright, mr shivering-at-the-mere-contact-of-skin keep telling yourself that”

“whatever do you mean” he can feel his screen heating, fuck, you sigh and gets up, he stupidly follows your action rising himself too quickly and almost tumbling down the sofa “hey now what's the rush-”

“it's five in the morning” you are already at the door “and i got clients to attend”

“five- fuck” boner be damned he has news to deliver at six “why didn't you told me when it was four!”

“I was too busy rearranging your guts” he can hear the smirk in your voice and now he wants to punch your mouth with his.”have a good day Vox”

And just like that you are gone… he keeps dressing back up, tying his bow tie, getting coffee and checking his phone, life goes on normally, and he is back at 110% in no time. The only thing bothering him is how he will keep telling himself he is alright, nothing to look into, no sir, he doesn't have the worst case of communication allergies known to man that is costing his sanity, absolutely not, he is in control, always, he has to be.

#hazbin hotel x reader #vox x reader #hazbin hotel #hh #got possesed at midnight. wrote this. posted on ao3. passed out... bon Appétit #hazbin headcanons #i don't care what canon says this bitch is a robot #robotfucker

105 notes · View notes

she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 6 months

Text

Welcome to my first ever fic! I have another one in the works as well but currently neither of them have a title because title's are hard, so for simplicity's sake this one is Kanej themed and when I share the other one I'll refer to it as Helnik themed.

Concept: Around ten years after the events of Crooked Kingdom, 25-year-old Captain Inej Ghafa frees Maya Olsen from a pleasure house in Ketterdam. Maya is looking for revenge against the man who out her in her position, a man who she knows nothing about except his name: Kaz Brekker.

Tags: @wraith--2 @lunarthecorvus @just2bubbly @real-fragments7

I've only tagged people who specifically said they'd like to read more, not everyone who expressed general interest, but if you'd like to be added to the list let me know! <3

Content Warnings: in more general terms I want to remind people to be aware of the nature of Kaz and Inej's experiences and relationship since even if I'm not directly addressing these things they tend to be implicit in any writing about them, but specifically to this chapter there's descriptions of blood/wounds, and implied sa references (not graphic).

Chapter One - Kaz

"Now listen," Kaz leaned back and ran a gloved hand through his hair, vaguely aware of the traces of blood he was leaving on his forehead, "this has been fun and all, but I promised my wife I'd be home in time for supper,"

He consulted his pocket watch and frowned.

"And I'm already running late,"

It was clear that the man tied to Kaz's chair had no idea what to say. Or maybe he just couldn't. His cheek was a bloody crater; his jaw tight at a painful looking angle. Kaz paused for a moment to survey his half-closed eyes, wondering if he'd done the job too well. But the man was still breathing his pathetic, shaky breaths, and his eyelids were quivering slightly. Kaz hit the chair leg with his crow's head cane, and the man shook back to life.

"Are we done here?"

The man nodded shakily, quivering as he leaned as far from Kaz as his chains would allow.

"Good. Then I'll see you next week, with the money," Kaz pulled a key from thin air and placed it on the man's knee, "Have fun getting out,"

He walked away, listening to the man attempt to call him back through a mouthful of blood right up until the door slammed shut. Kaz stretched, smiled, rolled his shoulders. That had gone well. He was late though - she wouldn't be happy. Speaking of which, Annika was leaning against the wall opposite him, picking at her nails with a knife. She must have news.

"Go check on him if he's not out in an hour. Cleanly, for now, but keep an eye on him. If he tries to run this week, put a bullet in his skull,"

"Why me?"

"You're in my line of sight. And on that, what are you doing here? Aren't you meant to be at the Crow Club?"

"Just came off a shift. Brought you a message,"

Kaz nodded.

"She's back?"

"And pissed at you," Annika confirmed, "She's coming to find you,"

Kaz was meant to go to her. If she'd decided to come to him, it could only mean one thing: he was in deeper shit than running late.

"Fine," he said, and marched upstairs.

" - something else!" Annika called after him.

Kaz turned.

"Yennefer Baars is dead,"

"Then it's a happy day for everyone. Except for me, because unlike other people's spouses when my wife suggests murder, she actually means it. Go to the dock's and rustle us up some attention, the Silver Six is quiet,"

And with that, ignoring Annika's brief mumble of protest, Kaz began to head up the stairs. Yennefer Baars was dead. So that's what Inej had been up to. She'd been gone for the last month, and as a rule they didn't tell each other what a job was until it was over - no sense in worrying each other over nothing. But that didn't mean they didn't guess at what the other was up to, and usually figure it out. Kaz knew that Inej wrote a goodbye note before every job she did and left it with a particular member of the Merchant Council and his risk-loving fiancé, to be passed on in case something went wrong. He only knew that because he did the same thing, and Jesper was a terrible liar. Inej was better at figuring out what he was up to than he was her, that was true, but usually he had some idea. This time he'd heard nothing, until today. Yennefer Baars, owner and proprietor of the Tulip Mill, the most successful pleasure house in Ketterdam since the Menagerie close, was dead. Kaz had to smile.

Even if he was next on Inej's list. What the hell had he done this time?

It was raining, but what else was new? Kaz opened the window and listened to the droplets flowing over the pane and hitting the sill like a waterfall. He couldn't hear Inej, but he wouldn't be able to. Definitely not over the wind and rain. He left the window open for her, and headed to the basin. He shed his gloves and began to wash the blood off before it dried. Running hot water. Years ago he'd added this, with the bathroom of their suite at the Geldrenner on this mind. It was such a luxury, back then. So normal now.

"Inej,"

He smiled to himself as he imagined the brief look of annoyance on her face at him greeting her just as she opened her mouth to do the same.

"Kaz,"

He turned to see her, and immediately Annika's message was unimportant. It was good to see her. She smiled.

"How are things, Kaz? I heard the Silver Six has been quiet,"

Of course she had.

"A little slower than usual, but the Crow Club's booming. I've got time to fix it before the profit's take a hit,"

Inej nodded. A moment passed in silence, before she said:

"Maya Olsen,"

"What of her?"

"You know her then?"

Kaz shrugged.

"One of Yen's girls, isn't she? The Tidemaker. Never met her, but she passes information to the Dregs. I have a few people watching her, making sure the information's good and trying to find out where she gets it. Why?"

"I met her tonight,"

"You mean when you killed Yennefer Baars?"

They looked at each other, dark eyes stone. And then both their hard expressions collapsed, and they smiled.

"It's good to be home, Kaz,"

He liked it when she said 'home'. Really, he knew, 'home' was Ravka. But the Suli travelled the country, never static, never anywhere long enough for that one solitary place to be the only singular point they'd always want to return to. That was too limiting for Inej; she existed to explore. To her, 'home' really meant 'family'. It had taken the last ten years to get here, but he'd come to like that word.

"But we do need to talk,"

Kaz sighed.

"Of course we do,"

Kaz cooked. Nothing special, just warm bread and soup, but Inej seemed to like it. They sat opposite each other at their little wooden table, eating and waiting for the other one to talk first. Kaz was stubborn, but Inej was infuriatingly patient when it came down to this sort of thing. Eventually, he broke the silence.

"Maya Olsen, then?"

"She's at the shelter - "

"I didn't ask where she was, I want to know - "

"Let me finish, Kaz,"

"You know I've killed people for less than interrupting me," he smirked

"And I've killed people for far more. Now be quiet, and listen to your wife,"

Kaz frowned and mumbled something about only agreeing to marriage for the tax break, but stopped interrupting her all the same.

"Maya's sixteen, I met her tonight at the Tulip Mill and took her to the shelter along with a couple of others, but they were the only ones I managed to get out," she paused and glanced away, just for a second, before picking up the thread of her story, "the other girls were both passed out - long story, I'll tell you later - I'm going to check on them in a couple of hours. But Maya was awake, so we talked and... Kaz there's no easy way to say this, but she wants to kill you,"

Kaz almost laughed. So this was why Inej had come to him, instead of waiting for him near the shelter. The had a second place there, unbeknownst to the gangs or anyone else, except the liberated kids - in case they needed Inej.

"Invite her to join the queue,"

"This is different, Kaz. This isn't some random act of aggression or some boy from a rival gang who wants to prove himself. She hasn't just picked you because you're Dirtyhands, she's picked you because you're... you,"

Kaz collected their empty bowls and began to head towards the sink, before Inej tutted and took them out of his hands, swapping them for his cane. He leant against it, and pretended the relief wasn't palpable. Somehow it was still a bad thing to rely on her.

"How does this kid even know about me? The information she was sharing wasn't specific to the gang, she didn't know who she was talking to. Just that he paid her to talk, and to not talk to anyone else. Did Yen find out about the extra income?"

"I don't think so, but Maya didn't say much about it,"

"So what information, in your extreme wisdom regarding matters of life and death, did you manage to gain?"

Inej looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Information isn't my specialty anymore, Kaz,"

"Yes it is,"

She laughed, and Kaz closed his eyes to listen to the sound, but it was only short.

"She blames you for her indenture,"

Shit. No wonder Inej was mad at him.

"What do I have to do with that?"

"Apparently there was no choice but to sell her indenture to a mercher, when her father was in debt. The mercher died and her contract changed hands, several times, before it ended up with Yen,"

The tap hummed as Inej washed the plates. Kaz shifted his weight against his cane.

"She blames the man her father was in debt to," she glanced at him over her shoulder, "No prizes for guessing who,"

This wasn't sounding too good.

"And just for that she wants to kill me? So do a thousand other unlucky sods, Inej, I'm not concerned,"

"You also killed her father,"

Damn it.

"So, she wants to kill me. That doesn't mean she gets to. Doesn't really mean she even tries. I've killed a lot of people's family members, but I'm still standing here. Did you...?"

"Tell her we're married? Yes, Kaz, I'm that much of an idiot,"

"Alright, alright. Still, you might as well. Talk her down, take her back home and find some relative or whatever to take her. That's what you do, right?"

Inej rolled her eyes. She was now perching on top of the half wall between the little kitchen and dining spaces.

"She can't go back. She's a Fjerdan grisha, she wouldn't be safe. And as for relatives - anyone she's got would either kick her out or not dare the risk of taking her. But that's not the problem, Kaz,"

"Right, and remind me why we're more worried about this murderous little problem than any of the others?"

"Because she's different to the others, Kaz. She... well, she reminded me of you,"

"Oh," said Kaz, freezing for a second before slowly returning his watch to his pocket, even though he hadn't checked the time yet, "Then I guess we have a problem,"

Problem was an understatement, and both of them knew it. There was every chance that he was completely and utterly fucked.

83 notes · View notes

archangeldyke-all · 5 months

Note

*heavy breathing* I need more protective Sev, that bodyguard fic had me foaming at the mouth...anyways please may I request vigilante!sevika x journalist!reader

i was up all night thinking about this ask anon this is such a good idea

men and minors dni

"you really won't come with me?" you ask. sevika laughs across the table at you.

"fuck no."

"sevika!" you pout. she shakes her head.

"what made you think i'd say yes? you know i hate the promenade." she grunts. you roll your eyes.

"but you're just invested in this story as i am!"

"you don't know they'll strike tonight."

"right. the masked vigilante that's been picking off zaun's corrupt rich one by one won't be attending the biggest gala of the year, that makes sense. don't be stupid sev! they're gonna be there, and they're gonna take their next victim, and i'm gonna be there to catch 'em. and then you're gonna feel like an asshole for not comin' with me."

"'catch 'em'?" sevika asks. you roll your eyes.

"no, fine, not catch 'em. just ask 'em a few questions." you say, leaning back in your chair as the waitress arrives with your food.

you've been investigating this vigilante since they started their work about a year ago. you don't know much, just that they're protecting the people of zaun better than any piltover enforcer ever has. they're quick and efficient, they don't leave a trace. they'll kill anyone from corrupt businessmen who live on the promenade to lowlife domestic abusers in the depths of the undercity.

you work for the local radio station, you get a weekly hour long segment where you can talk about whatever you want. lately, this mysterious vigilante has been all you've talked about.

about six months ago, you got a visitor at work. sevika. she told you she'd heard your segment last night, and she was fascinated with the new hero of zaun. you'd never met the woman before, but the two of you became fast friends discussing the vigilante and comparing notes. and now, she's abandoning you.

"i can't believe you. you're supposed to be my partner in crime!" you pout as you tuck into your sandwich. sevika chuckles around her burger.

"i've got a job, you know." she says. you roll your eyes.

"you don't work nights." you grunt. sevika chuckles.

"maybe i just don't wanna meet my hero. aren't you worried you'll meet 'em and they'll be... normal?"

"what are you talking about, that would be amazing! a normal person taking justice into their own hands? protecting the vulnerable and poor? that's the story of the year right there!" you say, throwing a french fry at sevika across the table. she just rolls her eyes and tosses the fry in her mouth.

the gala blows. you spent half your paycheck on a dress nice enough for this, and you're definitely regretting it. it's just a bunch of rich people who make their money off exploited miners making speeches about how hard they worked for their money. at least the food's good. and the drinks are free.

you've caught no sight of anyone who looks like your mysterious vigilante. the worst part is sevika's gonna be a know-it-all asshole about it. you can already hear her now, 'i told you it'd be a bust,' and 'i can't believe you spent that much on a dress!' you pout. she's such an asshole. you're still a bit pissed she didn't come with you. you were looking forward to seeing her in a suit or dress, maybe dancing with her for a bit, making fun of rich assholes all night long as you both slip fancy silverware into your purse to sell later.

you sigh. you've been daydreaming about sevika a lot lately. the teeny tiny crush you've had on her since the moment you met her has grown ten times in size, and now you're so hopelessly in love with your friend that you can't go twenty minutes without thinking about her. fuck this, you're going to smoke.

you make your way to the balcony, leaning against the wall and fishing a joint out of your purse. shit. you don't have a lighter.

there's a man beside you smoking a cigar. you recognize him from the papers, the CEO of some chemtech company that's in deep shit right now for it's human experimentation. "you need a light?" he asks. you snatch the lighter out of his outstretched hand, lighting your joint before passing it back. "what, no thank you?" he asks with a smirk. you roll your eyes.

"my cousin was one of the poor fucks who signed up to get poked and prodded by your scientists. died three weeks later. all for a hundred extra bucks." you spit out. the man chuckles.

"i'm sorry for your loss, dear, but you should know i had nothing to do with it." you take a long drag off your joint, considering how many nights you'd spend in jail if you decked this fucker right here and now. "i was just as shocked as the public was when these accusations came to light!" he insists, his cocky smirk never leaving his lips. you roll your eyes. "what's a pretty girl like you doing here all alone, anyways?" he asks. you scoff at him.

"working." you say. he raises an eyebrow at you and you turn to go back inside. before you can push the door open, he's got a hand around your wrist.

"working? what kind of work do you do?" he asks, his eyes trailing up and down your body. "anything i can... support you in?" he asks as he licks his lips. you scoff.

"fuck you! i'm not a hooker! and even if i was i'd rather die than sleep with a spineless fuck like you." you grunt as you struggle against his hold. he backhands you, and you gasp, your hand coming up to hold your cheek.

"you better watch your mouth, girl." he grunts out, crowding you against the balcony railing. you gulp.

you're trapped. if you back up any further, you'll tip over the ledge and fall a few hundred feet to your death. his hands are pinned on either side of you, and in front of you his growing erection is pressing against your thigh. panic starts to build in your chest. "get the fuck off of me." you squeak. he chuckles.

"and why would i do that? i got you right where i want you now." he whispers against your ear. you shiver. "don't worry, honey. once i'm done with you i'll send you home with enough money to feed you for a month." tears start welling in your eyes as you push against his chest. he brings his hand up to choke you. you whimper. "if you keep makin' noises like that, i'll pay you double." he grunts.

behind him, something falls and lands on the balcony with a thump. you can't make out what it is, and he doesn't seem to notice. just as your vision begins fading in the corners, his grip on your throat releases. you gasp in a quick breath and watch as the man stumbles backwards. you blink. he's holding his own neck now, with both hands, as blood trickles through his fingers. you blink again. his stumbling stops when he backs into something, and he turns around to look at his assailant.

you look at them at the same time.

six foot something, broad shoulders, shrouded in black clothing, a ski mask over their face, blood dripping off the pink sword being sheathed back into their copper arm. you blink.

the man collapses to his knees in front of the vigilante, choking on his own blood. they don't seem to notice, their silver eyes locked on yours. the fear and panic in your body recede, something similar to glee rising up. you smile.

"sev?" you ask, tentatively. the eyes behind the mask blink. you giggle. "are you fucking kidding me?!" you ask, giddy. the vigilante before you sighs, their shoulders falling, a hand coming up to scratch the back of their head.

by your feet, the man's gargling and wheezing subsides. he's dead, finally. you step over his corpse into sevika's space, slowly reaching up to fiddle with her ski mask. she doesn't smack you away, so you slowly pull the mask up and over her face.

sevika's biting her lip, a worried look in her eye. you giggle. "you had work, huh?" you ask. she shrugs.

"i mean, technically this is work." she says. you shake your head in disbelief.

"i can't fuckin' believe you. this whole time?" you ask. she shrugs.

"i-- i didn't think we'd become friends." she admits. "i just wanted to make sure you weren't gonna expose me." she says. "i didn't really expect--" she cuts herself off. you blink up at her.

"expect what?" you ask.

"i didn't expect you." she finishes simply. you open your mouth to ask her what she means, but you're distracted by the shadow of a figure approaching the glass door that leads to the balcony.

"shit. you need to go." you say, pulling her mask back down over her face. she glances behind her and curses.

"fuck." she grunts, before turning and leaping up to catch the lip of the roof. she pulls herself up, then turns to reach her hand down for you. "come on." she says. you blink, then reach up to take her hand.

she pulls you up to the roof effortlessly, steadying you as you take your heels off to walk better on the slanted slate tiles as you both run away from the scene of the crime. sevika takes you back the way you suppose she'd came, down a fire escape, across a ladder between two roofs, then down into a dingy alleyway.

she catches you before your feet can get mangled by broken glass and pebbles on the alleyway, holding you bridal style. you giggle. she gulps. "you're ridiculous." you say. she shrugs. "did you know i was out there with him?" you ask. she shakes her head no.

"just heard a struggle." she says. "he wasn't the initial target tonight, but... i'm glad i went after him instead."

"me too." you say. she huffs above you. you bite your lip. "i really missed you tonight." you admit. sevika blinks down at you.

"i was gonna tell you eventually, you know." she says. you smile.

"it's okay." you say. she shakes her head no. "what?" you ask.

"it's not. you're my best friend and i've been keeping way too many secrets from you. i know i can trust you it's just..." she trails off.

"secrets?" you ask. she freezes. you laugh. "come on, sev, it can't be worse than 'i'm actually the masked hero you've been obsessed with for the past year'." you say. she huffs. you elbow her.

"i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." you say. sevika raises an eyebrow at you.

"you got secrets?"

"just one." you say, shrugging. sevika blinks.

"okay." she says. you gulp.

"okay. put me down." you demand. sevika tosses your heels onto the ground before gently helping you into them. she keeps her hands on your hips as you wobble, shoving your feet into the shoes. she doesn't move them once you're done.

"so?" she asks. you sigh.

"if i tell you this and you act like a jackass i'm telling all of zaun your secret identity." you whisper. sevika laughs at the empty threat.

"no you wouldn't, you're not a snitch." she says. you huff.

"i know." you say. then you shrug, look sevika in her eye, and speak. "i'm kinda in love with you." you say. sevika freezes, her hands on your hips clenching into your flesh.

"'me' like, me? or 'me' like... me?" she asks, gesutring at her all black get up. you chuckle.

"you like you, sevika. you. the you i've actually known for half a year. i mean the whole vigilante thing is hot, sure, but. you're the one i'm always thinking about." you whisper.

"you think about me more than the new hero of zaun?" she asks, disbelieving. you chuckle.

"is it that hard to believe?" you ask. she gulps.

"a bit. you're very dedicated to your work. almost figured me out a few times there." she says. you laugh.

"so?" you ask. she blinks at you. "what's your other secret?" you ask. a smile slowly crawls up her face.

"oh." she says, like she's just remembering her end of the deal. "can i just show you instead?" she asks. you blink, then nod.

you expect her to take you somewhere, or maybe pull something out of her pocket. maybe she's gonna show you another feature on her mech arm, or maybe she's got a secret hideout somewhere.

what you don't expect, is for sevika to surge forward, both hands coming up to cup your jaw, her lips crashing against yours.

you squeak in surprise, then moan in pleasure, your hands coming up to wrap around sevika's strong shoulders as her hands move down to grip your waist. she presses you against the wall of the alleyway, sighing against your lips in relief, shoving a thigh between your legs. you gasp and pull away to look at her.

sevika's grinning down at you, a cocky little glint in her eye.

"surprise." she whispers against your lips. you giggle, then pull her down for another kiss.

your listeners are gonna be pissed when you give up your search for zaun's new hero. oh well, you think as you press your lips against sevika's, sevika will help me come up with a new story.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

80 notes · View notes

fox-bright · 2 months

Text

Just heard this evening that a teacher friend of mine is making a thousand dollars less a month this year. This friend has two teenagers! I only found out because I messaged to ask if they wanted me to start any tomato plants for them when I start my own, as it's easy for me to get a half-dozen going for someone else when I'm doing fifty for myself.

They've been gardening since they were a child, and they said, they know that having the garden can really ease the crunch--that things have been very difficult--but that they haven't known how they'll be able to afford to get enough plants to really make a difference.

So yeah, starting tomatoes. They asked for fifteen plants--but I've seen their space and I know I can show them how to have thirty in it. And four or five varieties of peppers, and two kinds of summer squash, and maybe some butternuts that will keep into the winter, and beans, lots of bush beans both for dry and fresh eating, and I told them how to run strings from the roof of their porch into their herb patch so that they can get some pole beans going, too. And I must still have a packet of kale I can just give them. And I'll do ten or fifteen basils so they can make and freeze pesto. Can't do bulb onions, I haven't found any day-neutral ones that play nicely here yet, but can do bunching ones. And if they'll take 'em, a bunch of Asian vegetables--bok choy, gai lan, perilla, shungiku. And if I can remember, I'll tell them to stop off at the local extension office and pick through the free seeds bin for radishes and carrots and lettuce.

Make no mistake, this is rage I'm acting out right now. I'm pissed as hell. Working full time for a school and having trouble keeping their kids' bellies full. Goddamn ridiculous excuse for a society is this.

#my actual life #fury #fox gardens

28 notes · View notes

corvidcircus · 1 year

Note

If you're still taking requests maybe how vergil and dante's s/os react to them coming back from hell eventually after the end of 5? :) I don't know how long they spend there but I know I'd go crazy if it was more than a few months... Love your writing! ❤

The Return

(post-DMC5, by roughly ten months)

Vergil's S/O-

you've been outwardly calm, and internally screaming

you were actually V's S/O

V told you about the whole situation just after he told Trish

the qliphoth was the first time you met Vergil, but he looked at you adoringly, just like V did

he softly assured you they'd be back, and leapt into the underworld within seconds of ending his bout with nero, leaving you scrambling to understand what was happening

you've been working to distract yourself from the fact that he's gone, and the fear he may not come back

you never really got to meet him, and he might be gone for good

it hurts

you hate it

the crew have noticed

you dont sleep well, you wont eat much, you're irritable and distracted

10 months later you are very close to giving up hope

youre on a job and suddenly both twins are just... there?

it throws you off balance and if it weren't for them covering you, things would've gone very poorly

you finish destroying the portal and the stragglers

you stop and actually see him for the first time

you don't remember moving, but you blink and you're across the room, crying, face shoved into his chest, clinging to him for dear life

he stiffens and then slowly returns the embrace

it takes a minute for you to get your breath back

you recognize pieces of the poet you knew, enough to gently tease him

"You're late, and in a lot of trouble," he winces apologetically

"but goddamn did I miss you."

that earns a small smile

("And I, you, my dove.")

Dante's S/O-

you're pissed, at first. mainly because before the Vergil fight you told him not to do anything ridiculously stupid.

mans had 1 job: he failed

after about 5 weeks, you start getting a little worried

the tree is mostly gone, so they must have succeeded in taking out the roots

the longer that goes by the more you think about something Nero said when he told the crew what happened

that they never said they had a plan to get back, in fact he seemed to think they may not be able to get back out of the underworld

the whole arcane research thing is not typically your go to for dealing with demons

why bother when hitting them with a sword is more effective

but without yamato, portals are hard to create, and even harder to control

you spend months running down any option you can think of to at least get to or from the demon world

it takes another 8 1/2 months to finally find something that you think might work

it doesn't

then after passing out, upset and exhausted, you startle awake at the sounds of the doors flying open

you must still be dreaming, because that looks like your devil

who's trapped in hell

right?

cue a dante patented stupid joke to diffuse tension

you quite literally vault over the desk into his arms and just feel that hes back

*hug*"I'm so happy you're back!"

and exactly 4 seconds later

*hitting him repeatedly* "Never fucking do that again!"

Bonus Nero's Reaction-

he's super fucking pissed off

ah yes lets leave the kid (with severe familial abandonment issues) suddenly without his family

remains fairly angry when the topic of either twin is brought up

but the longer that goes by, the more anger becomes distress, and eventually resignation

concerned, but unsure how to help Vergil's S/O

very bothered by the 'empty look' when he does jobs with VS/O

confused, exasperated, but not surprised at Dante's S/O's actions

a little tiny bit scared of the non-stop manic energy DS/O is embodying

first time seeing the twins back, he has way to many emotions to deal with so defaults to anger

likely throws down with either/both

the rage burns hot and fast this time, so the fight is messy and short

basically ends in him storming off and giving them the cold shoulder until someone makes the first move

(probably nero or dante lets be honest here)

*this is the headcannon version, there may end up being fully written one shots later

#devil may cry #vergil #dante #devil may cry 5 #dmc #vergil x reader #dante x reader #bonus nero #writing requests #request fill #my writing #dmc x reader #devil may cry headcanons

277 notes · View notes

yes-i-am-happyaspie · 10 months

Note

Hiiii!!! How're you doing? Good I hope!! ahh I'm seeing these amazing reblogs on your page and with College and my F1 brainrot I haven't been able to read Irondad fics 😭😭😭 is it okay if I ask you to give me some recommendations? preferable whump or sickfics (with fluff, lots of fluff) 👉🏼👈🏼 or like which fics did you enjoy the most this year/past 6 months 💙💙💙🩵🩵🩵🩵

Sorry for the delay in answering! I just needed to find the right time to really sit down and make a *good* list. Haha. Here is a list of what I've read recently and enjoyed a lot. Some of it fits better into your criteria than others, and some of them are still in progress, but here's the list! Don't forget to kudos and comment!!

[fic list with links below the cut!]

Paradigm shift by Bergen (T) In Progress (I love where this one is going! Lot's of fun surprises)

Peter got a Stark phone when he was ten. Adrian took him to a big store with lots of TV screens that all played the same video of Tony Stark declaring to the world that he was Iron Man. They ducked behind the microwaves, both of them giggling as Adrian stuffed the phone under Peter’s sweater.

They walked right out the door without tripping the alarm, and Adrian bought him ice cream to celebrate

After his parents die, Peter is taken in by the Toomes’ family. Things slowly, then quickly spiral out of control. All Adrian wants is to take revenge on Tony Stark. All Peter wants is to do the right thing. Why is that so much harder than expected?

Spaghetti and Red Wine by arthropodwithapen (M) In Progress (Lots of good whump moments but also some fluff and angst!)

After Peter's precarious position goes from bad to worse time and time again, he is left all alone with nothing but his anger and resentment at the world to keep him company. He wonders how much more he can take and whether the growing grudge between him and the Avengers will be enough to finish him off for good. Will he be able to complete his mission in time? Does he even want to anymore?

Of course. He is Spider-Man and he has a job to do. And he'll do it even if it kills him. For everyone else's sake.

Strands in the Rope series by Sara (ctrsara) @ctrsara (T) Complete (this whole series and its follow-up are super great. Lots of angst, misunderstandings, and of course, a whole ton of fluff)

A collection of insights starting after the events of Homecoming, mostly from Tony's perspective. The relationship that Tony and Peter had built by the time Infinity War happened (or not - I'm not a big fan) wasn't built on any big world-ending events, but on countless lab sessions, movie nights, smaller emergencies, and conversations. All of these combined to form a bond between them just as strong as blood ties, and just as unbreakable. I feel like we missed out on all that on-screen, so I can never read enough stories that would maybe cover that period. There is a follow-up series called, Unbroken Strands.

Please, Help Me by Muikelle (Not Rated) In Progress (So. Much. Whump.)

Mj watched as they pride apart the car. Her car. The only car she had, the one Tony had gifted her as a graduation gift. The car she and Peter first- well. Anyways. Then Peter was being moved out of it, and slow motion had taken over once more. She was standing to go get to him, he needed her. She needed him. But a man stopped her, told her to sit down, or something of the likes. She was pissed off when they closed the ambulance door and finally took off with her inside, she didn't need to be in there, she needed to be with Peter.

Or Mj and Peter get into a car crash when coming home from spring break.

Iron Dad: Coming Home by JAWorley (T) Complete (I just started reading this but so far it's really great!)

Cold, tired, hungry, and homeless, 14 year old Peter Parker gets taken in by Adrian Toomes and his crew. Mr. Toomes is a great guy who teaches Peter how to survive on the streets, and Peter loves him for it, despite that Mr. Toomes hates Peter’s hero Iron Man and says Tony Stark is out to line his own pockets by stepping on the little guy. When Iron Man appears one day and presents Spider Man with an opportunity too good to pass up, Peter finds himself having to make up his mind about what ‘helping the little guy’ really means. Peter also begins to find out some ugly truths about the things Adrian Toomes and his crew are making, and has to decide if the safety Toomes offers is worth throwing Spider Man’s mission and morals out the window. Can he find that same safety with Mr. Stark? So much of Peter’s future hangs in the balance and depends on the choices he makes. An anti-hero and an anti-villain are just one step over the same line in a different direction.

Double-sided Coin by kingdomfaraway @asyouleft (G) Complete (I have never read anything like this before and it was so so good!)

The Iron Man rarely had assignments that weren’t direct kill orders.

Usually he was given a weapon and a target, with the strict instructions of leaving no one alive, target and witness alike. They didn’t expect him to make too much conversation, to integrate himself into the person’s life, to find a way to gain the target’s trust. He was not a spy. He was a machine made to kill, to take down threats to HYDRA, and to preserve the Greater Good.

When the assignment came from high up to kidnap, not kill, a young boy, Peter Parker, he was a little baffled.

(or How to Make a Deadly Assassin Adopt You: A HYDRA!Tony fic)

How to Get Banned from Monaco (again) by niniblack @niniblack (T) Complete (This is so funny and so perfectly in character. I love it.)

Tony texts Rhodey before they leave for Monaco:

two rules for this trip

don’t let Peter out of your sight

don’t let him do anything Pepper would get mad about

Rhodey: that second one doesn’t leave many options

will you make me a lot of pancakes (when we meet again?) by Peng_Peng (G) Complete (This is some great Ironfam whump, right here!)

Five times hurting you + Five times receiving your kindness.

Peter knew from the first time they met that the kid wasn't going to like him. But Peter could do that. She was his first and only sister after all.

A New Point of View by waitingondaisies (T) Complete (This one is si so fun with lots of funny and serious moments. It's a good balance)

Peter rushes out of school to join Tony in fighting the aliens that appear over New York, leaving behind the problems that plague his life.

He ends up leaving them behind for far longer than expected when an alien substance causes him to swap bodies with Tony. They agree to live each other’s lives to keep the mishap under wraps, giving each of them an up-close and personal view of the other’s hidden problems.

Peter will come to learn that Tony’s life isn’t as glamorous as it appears, and Tony will come face to face with all of the things that Peter never told him about: bullies, unfair teachers, and economic struggles.

Saving the World Does Not a Hero Make by Azure_K_Mello (M) Complete (This isn't an Irondad fic so much as it's an older MCU/X-Men Crossover but I read it again recently because I love it so much)

Years ago, Tony Stark created a brutal weapon. Even when he was the Merchant of Death, he couldn’t bring himself to put it on the market. But, when S.H.I.E.L.D. learned of its existence, they wanted it. Deciding Spider-Man was the weakest link in Iron Man’s armor, Captain America, Black Widow and Falcon were sent to apprehend him — hoping he either knew where the weapon was or that they could trade him to Tony for it.

But, apprehending a fifteen-year-old is more correctly be termed as kidnapping. And what S.H.I.E.L.D. called interrogation was, in actuality, torture. And, when push came to shove, Peter had to save himself when no one else was going to help.

And my shameless self-promotion...

Threenager by happyaspie (G) Incomplete

While on patrol, Peter is struck by a spell that turns him into a toddler. Or mostly into a toddler. His memories, intellect, and experiences are still intact. Unfortunately, that makes being trapped in a toddler's body, with a toddler's motor skills that much harder. His legs are too short, and his fingers are too uncooperative. He can’t ride in the car without a super claustrophobic car seat. He can’t even wash his hands without help and it's all very frustrating. Between the teasing, Tony does his absolute best to help.

I could add so much more to this list, but I think I'll stop here. Haha. As far as sickfics go, @sicktember is coming up soon and I know *I* will have plenty to add to the genera during that event!! So be on the lookout for that, my friend! And Thank you so much for asking me to compile this list!!

#asked and answered #marvel fic rec #irondad fic rec #irondad and spiderson #peter parker #tony stark #spider-man #iron man #mcu #marvel #x-men #fanfic rec list #irondad #spiderson #mcu fanfiction #irondad fic recs

65 notes · View notes

thedreamlessnights · 1 year

Text

Accismus - pt. 4

{previous chapter} || {next chapter}

Geralt of Rivia x gn!reader (Eventual NSFW)

Synopsis: Arriving in Novigrad proves to be another adventure as you meet Geralt's friends and family and investigate leads on another djinn.

Warnings: Mentions of previous burnings at the stake, blood and corpses, lots of pining, sexual innuendos and references, graphic descriptions of injuries.

Word Count: 9.3k

A/N: It's finally here, and only took... several months 😬 Seriously, though, I'm so sorry for the wait. I've been dealing with so many things it would take an essay to list them out. I hope the content makes up for it! Thank you all so much for your patience and comments, they've kept me so incredibly inspired, and I can't wait for you all to see the rest of the story. Without further ado, enjoy chapter four!

A glimmering light against the darkness you’ve known of late, the Free City of Novigrad has undoubtedly come back to life.

The sight of it takes you aback; the flourishing businesses, open gates, large crowds chattering about this and that. Even with Temeria reinstated, Velen still suffers greatly from the price of the war, still carries the burden of it all. You’d expected it to be the same here. Why should it be any different?

But with Radovid gone, there are no pyres. No burning books or flocks of witch hunters stalking the streets, nothing but minor conflicts as you and Geralt pass by: a business spat, drunk soldiers wandering the street, a brief argument between lovers. Had you not been explicitly told of it, you’d never have known that mages and nonhumans once burned here.

Something about that puts you at unease; a complete return to normalcy. It’s as if it never happened, as if that level of suffering and hatred could simply be washed away. But you know better.

People might pretend that all is normal once more, but beneath the blood and bodies that have been clumsily disposed of, those roots still grow. And if they’re ignored, they’ll take hold once more. Maybe not today, maybe not even ten years from now, but they will.

It’s a knowledge that fills you with an unshakeable sense of dread.

As the two of you roam the city with Roach and Mead on foot, merchants sing out their various spiels and various taverns rumble with conversation.

You don’t know this place, but lingering in the back of your mind is the strange sensation that you’ve been here before. And perhaps, in a way, you do know it - through Oxenfurt.

They smell the same: mud, the reek of piss, the stink of the sea. The stench of beer that hangs on the patrol’s breath. But, just like Oxenfurt, if you walk through the right spot you get the honeyed scent of flowers growing on the vine, the heavenly aroma of baking bread, fragrant meat roasting on the fire.

The sweetness of fresh air that seems to slip through your fingers.

You really do miss it - Oxenfurt, that is. The memories are muddled and tarnished with pain, but somewhere between them, you still ache.

The lectures, poring over the pages in fascination. Hours spent taking in how every internal system works together, creating movement and balance and life. So complex. So involuntary.

Most of all, though, even more than the lectures, you miss the hope you’d had then: hope that things would all fall into place one day. That it would all turn out right in the end.

You don’t think that way anymore. That optimism has been washed away now, so strange and foreign you barely recognize it. All you can seem to think now is how everything is bound to go wrong. Even now, you’re anxiously mulling over upcoming situations.

With every step closer to The Chameleon, that unease continues to grow. Whoever is in there - will they hate you? Will they see what you’ve been expecting Geralt to see all this time, what he’s refused to accept despite your insistence?

You close your eyes for a brief moment and shake your head. It won’t help. But every second here feels like a lifetime. Five minutes and you already want to leave this place.

When Geralt finally stalls in front of a building, your heart skips a beat. This must be The Chameleon, then. Even just standing outside, it’s obvious that this place is nicer than The Swift Oak.

It’s well maintained, newly painted, and - by the number of people filtering in and out - it must also be popular. Whether that’s from Dandelion’s reputation or earned through fair business, you don’t know. It could be either way.

You feel sick to your stomach.

When you and Geralt are done hitching your horses to the posts in front of the tavern, he turns to you and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Gotta warn you…” he says, expression apologetic. “Dandelion can be-”

“Geralt!” booms a nearby voice, cutting off his words. “That really you, ye bugger?”

The two of you turn to see a dwarf with a neatly trimmed beard and mohawk standing at the tavern’s entrance. There’s a grin on his face, an axe slung across his back, and - with a start, you realize you know exactly who he is: even though you’ve only seen him in Gwent cards.

“Greetings, Zoltan,” Geralt replies, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is Dandelion here?”

“Right inside, the rascal,” Zoltan replies, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning. “He’ll be delighted to see you.” He pauses, giving you a brief look over. “And… who’s this?”

You quickly introduce yourself, and Zoltan chuckles.

“Ah, Geralt. Always getting around.”

Your cheeks immediately burn, and you pointedly turn your gaze away from him.

Geralt, suddenly looking incredibly awkward, simply glances at you and nods to the door. “We should head in before it gets dark,” he says.

He isn’t going to correct Zoltan?

“Ah - before ye go,” Zoltan says quickly, “ought to tell ye that your sorceress was here.”

Your entire body goes stiff, and Geralt straightens a little. He’s never talked very much about Yennefer, and - well, your curiosity has been piqued.

“Yen was here?” Geralt asks.

“Aye, a few days back,” Zoltan confirms, shifting uneasily. “Askin’ about your whereabouts, whether or not we’d seen you of late. Told her, ‘no, havenae seen our pal Geralt in ages,’ and she argued a right amount with Dandelion. Set off in a storm, told us she’d be back later.”

Oh, Gods.

“They argued, huh?” Geralt asks dryly, not looking surprised in the least. “What about?”

“Don’t rightly know,” Zoltan replies, scratching at his beard. “Wasnae truly interested, and, well… you know what she’s like, Geralt. Somethin’ about magic, some sort o’ danger, can’t tell you all the details... Dandelion pried, she cursed him, left in a storm. Said she’d be back later.”

“She say how soon?” Geralt asks.

“Nah. Course not.”

“Great,” Geralt says dully. “Knowing Yen, that could mean either a few days or a few months. Thanks, Zoltan. Better get inside.”

“Aye, good to see you again, old pal,” Zoltan grins, shaking Geralt’s hand. “And it’s nice to meet you,” he adds, giving you a nod. “I expect I’ll see you two around.”

He heads off into the crowd, and Geralt makes for the door.

The minute the two of you step inside, you’re overwhelmed. The tavern is warm and lively, flowing with music and mead and chatter. The aroma of cooking food wafts through the door, and your stomach growls hungrily.

Geralt gives you an amused look, raising a brow. The two of you had eaten not long back, but it seems it hadn’t been enough to tide you over. Before you can respond, the sound of another voice cuts through the noise.

“Geralt! I knew you’d come!”

A man with brown hair, a neatly-trimmed beard, and bright blue eyes has woven through the crowd, beaming as he looks at Geralt. His clothing is finely-made, purple fabric with detailed embroidery that glistens under the light, and a hat with a egret feather on top. The finery makes you feel incredibly out of place in your wrinkled, dirty clothes.

“Dandelion!” Geralt fondly squeezes the bard’s shoulder. “Good to see you.”

This is Dandelion? This well-dressed, bright-eyed, charming man? You’d pictured him older, nothing but tawdry. A senile old man well past his peak with a predatory glint in his eyes and a beer-filled gut. You’d been very wrong - after all, how could a man like that ever be friends with Geralt?

“How are you, old friend?” Dandelion asks with a warm smile. “It’s been ages, truly! You must be hungry - ah, Rosa! A bowl of soup for the witcher, if you please!”

“Make it two,” Geralt corrects, and Rosa, a young woman with thick black hair and rosy cheeks, gives a nod. Then Geralt turns back to Dandelion. “How’d you know I would come?”

“Oh, you know Yennefer,” Dandelion replies, dismissively batting the question away with his hand. “Shows up one day asking where you are, then comes back a week or so later with you in tow.”

He stops, seeming to finally see you, and a brief quizzicality crosses his face. “Hold on. You aren’t here with Yennefer, are you?”

As he’s speaking, Rosa returns, handing you and Geralt each a bowl of soup. You start scarfing it down like it’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten, and - it honestly might be.

“Nope,” Geralt responds, starting on his soup too. “Was hoping you knew where she’s gone off to.”

“I haven’t a clue,” Dandelion says. “She burst into the inn, asking where you were, and when we told her we hadn’t seen you in ages, she went pale. Kept muttering something about a curse, but wouldn’t tell me anything else. When I asked her what she needed you for, she called me a pest, Geralt, a pest! Can you believe that? Then she stormed off, claiming she’d be back later.”

Geralt’s brows pinch, and he shifts, setting down his now-empty bowl. “Can’t be good if she’s worried.”

“Like I said, she wouldn’t tell me a thing about it,” Dandelion says, rather petulantly. Then he looks over at you. “Oh, where are my manners! Who’s this?”

Once again you introduce yourself, and Dandelion heartily shakes your hand. “A pleasure to meet you,” he says. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Long story,” Geralt says exhaustedly.

“A long story?” Dandelion’s brows rise, and a sly smile paints his lips. “What sort? Action-riddled? Romantic? Oh, I know - a long, twisting contract that led the two of you together!”

Your cheeks go hot, and you set your spoon down next to your empty bowl. This must have been what Geralt was trying to warn you about earlier.

“Dandelion,” Geralt chides. “Anything else I should know?”

“Alright, alright,” Dandelion acquiesces. “And no, that’s all - if you don’t count The Chameleon’s booming business, and Oxenfurt University’s recent reopening.”

“Oxenfurt’s open again?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. Geralt and Dandelion both look at you with varying levels of curiosity.

“It is, yes!” Dandelion says proudly, puffing out his chest a little. “Students and lecturers have been flooding back into the city. They’ve even asked me to give a guest lecture! Why do you ask? Are you interested in attending the classes?”

You don’t know what to say. “I…”

“Ex-student,” Geralt fills in for you, and you give him a tight smile.

“Really?” Dandelion asks. “Well, in that case, you’d better register quickly. The classes are filling up faster than lecturers could ever hope to teach.”

“Thank you, but I’m not interested in returning,” you inform him.

“Is that so?” he asks. You can tell you’ve piqued his interest, and you wince with regret as he continues on. “Oxenfurt is where I got my master’s degree in the seven liberal arts, did you know that?”

You didn’t know he had a master’s in the seven liberal arts. “Well, I-”

“Oh, what am I saying?” He props his hands on his hips. “I haven’t even introduced myself! I’m Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove - though most know me as Dandelion. You may have heard my ballads?” He gazes at you expectantly.

“I have,” you confirm, pointedly avoiding Geralt’s gaze.

“Splendid! Tell me, which is your favorite?”

“Dandelion,” Geralt cuts in, “stop the bragging.”

“But-”

“We’ve had a long day. Need a room.”

Dandelion hesitates, and his smile falters. “Oh, alright,” he relents. “Don’t worry, I’ll get the gritty details from you later,” he adds quietly. “Two rooms, coming right up!”

You let out a small noise. Geralt clears his throat.

Dandelion pauses, looking between the two of you with widening eyes. “Oh, I see,” he says, grinning coyly. “One room.”

“Dandelion,” Geralt says warningly.

“Alright, alright,” Dandelion sighs, pulling a ring of keys from his pocket. “Here. Take the first room upstairs on the left, it’s open. And, Geralt? Try not to make too much noise. We’ve been trying to get the walls soundproofed, but it’s costing a small fortune, and guests are still complaining from the last time you and Yennefer were here.”

Your face feels like it’s caught on fire. You bite your lip until it stings and pretend you’re admiring the decorations on the walls.

“Uh-huh,” Geralt says, tone flat. “Be sure to do just that.”

He places a warm hand on the small of your back to guide you away from the conversation, and you shiver a little under his touch.

“Much appreciated,” Dandelion says with a wink. “Do enjoy yourselves, though - oh, and let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you!”

Geralt moves his hand from your back and heads toward the stairs, and you give a polite nod to the troubadour. “It was nice to meet you, Dandelion,” you tell him.

“Likewise!” he says brightly. Then he lowers his voice. “And tomorrow, I’ll get all those details from you, alright?”

“Heard that,” Geralt calls.

Dandelion pulls a face. “You won’t let me have anything,” he whines.

You let out a soft laugh and follow after Geralt, legs getting heavier and heavier as the two of you head up the stairs. When he unlocks the room, your heart sinks in disappointment. One bed again. You’d been hoping to sleep on a mattress tonight.

Geralt sets his things down on the bed and sighs, taking a seat.

“Listen… sorry about all of that,” he says, pinching his nose. “Once Dandelion finds out why we’re here, we’ll get stuck answering questions. For hours, most like. Figured it was better to wait.”

“It’s fine.” You set your things on the floor and start unpacking, and Geralt watches you as you pull out the bedroll you’d purchased earlier. His brows immediately pinch.

“Plenty of room on the bed,” he says.

“I know,” you reply softly. “Just…”

You hesitate for a moment. Explaining this means you’re going to have to confess that you’d spied on him when he was asleep, and you don’t want him to paint you as some sort of creep.

Geralt patiently waits for you to continue, and you let out a frustrated puff of breath.

“I know you slept on the floor last time,” you say quickly, “and I know this whole thing must be extremely uncomfortable for you, especially sleeping in the same bed as me. You’re with Yennefer, and it’s only fair that this time I’m-”

“Hey. Hang on,” Geralt cuts in, sending your rambling to a crashing halt. There’s a pause before he shakes his head, then pats the bed next to him. “Come up here.”

You stare at him for confirmation, and he raises his brows expectantly. Turning your eyes toward the floor, you get up and take a seat.

“Slept on the floor last time because the mattress was too soft,” Geralt says gently. “This one’s a lot harder. That one? Felt like I was sinking into a cloud. Been on the path so long, couldn’t sleep. Didn’t have anything to do with you. As for Yen…” He trails off, shaking his head again. “We... Shit. Don’t know how to say this. Didn’t leave off on the best of terms.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

“Listen, don’t worry about any of that,” Geralt says quickly. “Won’t have you sleeping on the floor.”

He has a sternness in his tone like he’s expecting you to argue, but you don’t have any desire to.

“If you insist, master witcher,” you reply.

“Mhm. I insist,” he responds, and you move your things off the floor. He seems to relax as you sit next to him. Then he grabs his things and starts getting ready for bed.

Right, sleep. The thing you’ve been avoiding since last night. In the partial silence that’s disturbed only by Geralt’s breathing, you’re keenly aware of the door at your back, and your heart starts racing like a drum. As you try to get settled in, your hands start shaking.

Geralt immediately turns toward you, fixing you with that piercing look he commonly wears. “You okay?” he asks. “Pulse just shot up.”

Your mouth is dry when you speak, and your words come out as a hoarse stammer. “Could we… switch sides?” You look pointedly at the bed, and his gaze softens with understanding.

“Sure. Happen to like that side better anyway.”

Despite your fear, his words still pull a weak smile from you. Then you quickly trade sides with him, heart slowing as you settle in and tug off your boots.

This room has a privacy sheet, which makes things so much easier with your situation. You change into your nightclothes behind it, clean your teeth, then tuck yourself under the sheets, too tired to do anything else.

As you lay down, you realize Geralt is lost in thought, watching you. Still sitting up, hands propped loosely over his thighs. You give him a questioning look, and he stirs and blinks hard, rubbing the back of his neck.

“The … man you killed,” he murmurs - very hesitantly. “Did-”

“Geralt, I can’t,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I can’t talk about it.”

He nods. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have pried.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You aren’t angry that he did - you’re angry you can’t seem to tell him.

“You don’t have to be,” you reply after a moment. “I’m not upset.” Then, when he’s silent, you add, “Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Goodnight,” he says.

You turn over and close your eyes.

Oxenfurt is so very warm in the summer.

Granted, Velen hadn’t been much better, but it was wet heat, and you’d been used to it - swampy and muggy, boiling you alive. Redania, even along the coast of the sea, is dry.

Too dry. The hot air sears your lungs as you run, legs aching and feet burning like mad. Your shoes have been falling apart for months now, but you haven’t had the coin to replace them. In the midst of everything, your foot hits a stone, and you trip.

The books you’d been carrying go flying. Your hands throw themselves out to brace your fall, scraping raw against the stone, but they’re still too late.

The impact knocks the wind straight out of you.

Your right knee jams into the ground in a blinding flash of pain, and you gasp airlessly, wondering if you’re going to die here until, finally, you can breathe again.

Not without pain.

Gingerly, you push yourself up into an upright position and look around, trying to compose your rattled mind. Your body aches like the Abyss.

Shit.

The notes in your books are scattered everywhere, and you’re already late to class. Your hands are stinging and bleeding, and your knee shoots with pain every time you move it.

But you can’t miss this lecture.

Shakily, you get to your feet, limping around to gather your notes, wincing with pain every time you move. Damned campus. Damned shoes, now broken worse than ever.

As you gather everything into your arms again, a lark flies overhead singing a sweet, cheerful song. You stare at her wistfully for a moment, wishing you shared her freedom, then painfully limp along.

The university always smells of dust and old books, and your footsteps echo in the hall. Somewhere in the distance, there’s the smell of smoke. When you finally make it to class, everyone’s eyes turn to you.

“Late once again,” Professor von Gratz remarks. “Do not make it a habit.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, ducking your head and hobbling to your seat. If he notices your injuries, he says nothing.

You don’t bother telling him that work held you back, or that someone’s cart toppled over and forced you to take a longer path on your route, or that you tripped. You don’t bother, because you’ve learned they simply don’t care.

Instead, with hands shaking in pain, you sit and organize your books. Just as you’re opening up your notes, the lark from earlier flies in from the open window and lands directly on your desk.

Her song, which had been so sweet not long ago, is shrill and piercing, deafening this close to you - and no doubt interrupting the lecture. You cast your eyes to the front of the room, worried that you’ll be scolded again, but you find that the professor isn’t there.

No one is. The room around you is empty.

Your gaze must sweep the room twenty times before you can finally accept it, because that’s impossible, this isn’t possible. But your eyes don’t lie. The room is empty.

Perhaps you’d somehow injured your head in the fall? Perhaps you’re in the wrong classroom? Surely they couldn’t have all left without you noticing. Could they?

Whatever the answer is, you’ve got to get out of this place.

Gods, your hands are burning. Not stinging like earlier, not even throbbing, but burning. They’d been scraped in the fall but, this… this is not right.

Blisters are swelling on your palms and fingers, blisters oozing with blood that grow and grow and burn like nothing you’ve ever felt and finally burst, splattering blood on your face.

Your eyes snap closed and hot bile rushes to your mouth. Gods. You firmly swallow it down, taking a moment to compose yourself. You’ve had worse than this.

With a shaky inhale, you open your eyes again. Breathe. Just breathe.

Still, the bleeding won’t stop. Blood is everywhere - all over your clothes, your skin. When you reach for your things, it gets all over them too. Your books, notes, the desk. All covered in blood. The brooch your parents sent you, a gift for your hard work, is soon doused in it.

Oh, gods, you have to get out of here. Get someone to help you. Where is everyone?

As you helplessly try to gather everything, the lark flies over and firmly pecks at your hand. You hiss in pain but refuse to let go of your books. She pecks again.

“But I need these!” you say.

Giving a chirp, she hops closer and pecks at your hand, over and over this time until it draws more blood. You’re forced to leave everything but the brooch, which you store safely in your pocket.

Then you follow her out the door.

On the other side, the air is biting. Wind howls in your ears, swirls in your hair, numbs your cheeks. Rain beats down against your scalp and shoulders, and you can’t stop shivering.

Your knee doesn’t hurt anymore. Neither do your hands. The lark perches on your shoulder. The bleeding has stopped. You can’t make sense of any of this.

In front of you lies the mouth of a cave. A deep, dark opening that seems to swallow you even now, where you stand. Your knees seem ready to give out at any moment.

In a flutter of feathers, the lark takes flight again, resuming her song as she circles around the cave’s entrance.

She wants you to follow, you realize.

But there’s something here, something in the ground that threatens to sink you, something in your gut so dark you can’t stomach it. Evil. Evil that bleeds into your bones, makes your hair stand up, fills your mouth with the taste of metal.

“I won’t go in there,” you say. Your voice is shaky, but your resolve is firm. “I won’t.”

The lark lets out a dejected chirp and swoops inside. You realize something, then. You realize that if you don’t follow her in, you’ll be all alone. And even at the mouth of this horrific place, you can’t stand to be alone.

So you follow.

As soon as you step inside, you find a torch in your hand. The warm, glowing light offers solace, and so does the lark’s song - echoing all around. Still, the evil remains underneath, coating the walls, coating the mud on your feet. The lark is so much faster than you are.

“Wait, slow down,” you plead, trying to keep up. Gnarled roots and broken stones threaten to trip you, and you find yourself stumbling more than walking. The lark’s song is still present, but you’re falling more and more behind.

Then, all at once, the singing stops. It’s just… gone. No echoes. No more feathers fluttering with the beat of her wings. Nothing. You stand there, holding your breath, waiting, praying that you’ll hear her again. But after a terrible moment of silence, your torch goes out.

You’re left in complete darkness.

Ice floods your veins. Pure, chilling terror that sinks into your chest, your stomach, your legs. Your heart thunders against your ribs, and your breathing is deafening in your ears. The hair on the back of your neck and arms stands up.

Trying your best not to panic - panicking won’t help - you turn around, blindly stretch your hands out in front of you, and start moving. Slow, careful steps. No light to guide you, no sound aside from your heart and your breath. Shaking with fear.

Then something warm closes around your arm.

Your body reacts in pure, unadulterated instinct, jolting and shoving, trying to get away from the pinned grip that’s now pressing on you, out, out, out.

For a moment, you’re lashing out in fear, and then… then you finally see a warm pair of honey-gold eyes above you and white hair and-

“Easy,” comes Geralt’s gravelly, sleep-touched voice. “Easy. It’s me.”

You freeze for a moment before letting out a sigh of relief, going limp. It’s him, you’re safe, just another dream. You’ve never had that dream before.

Trembling, you bury your face in your hands. “Geralt,” you say shakily.

He hesitantly touches you again, soothingly running his hand over your arm, and you have to fight back a sob at the gentle act of comfort.

“I - I’m so sorry,” you whisper.

“Don’t be,” he says. “Pretty fierce claws you’ve got there, though.”

Despite the humor lacing his tone, horror washes over you. Did you scratch him? You pull your hands from your eyes and look him over, searching for evidence of an injury, and it presents in a scratch against his right arm. There’s a clear imprint of long pink lines dug into the skin, even drawing blood in places.

“It’ll be gone in five minutes,” Geralt says calmly. “My fault. You were having a nightmare - tried to wake you up without thinking. Should’ve gone about it differently.”

“I hurt you.”

The words are raw and pained. After everything you’ve already put him through, you’d not only woken him up but also scratched him. Drew blood.

“Doesn’t hurt at all, actually,” he says. “Remind me to tell you later about how Dandelion and I once had to share a bed. Snored like a log, kicked the shit out of me all night long. Pretty sure I broke a rib.”

The words are clearly meant for comfort, but they don’t make you feel any better. You gently run your fingers over the wound and Geralt doesn’t even wince. It doesn’t change the fact that you still feel awful.

“I should bandage it up.”

He shrugs. “Like I said, it’ll be gone in five minutes. Maybe even less. Witchers heal fast.”

“I know, but I-”

You stop mid-sentence, freezing in place.

As you’re only realizing now, Geralt is shirtless. Shirtless and scarred everywhere. Your eyes trail over his torso, taking all of it in - the raised pink lines, rosy strokes against his porcelain skin. You’ve never seen this many scars in your life.

Most are long claw marks, scattered along his torso. There’s a deep imprint of a bite mark where his shoulder meets his neck. His chest has a star-shaped wound on the right side, and there are three diagonal, round imprints stretching across his ribs.

He’s lean, too, lean and broad and just as muscular as you’d imagined, if not more, and - oh, gods, you’re staring again.

“You - you’re shirtless,” you say dumbly. You wince at your own words. Why? Why had you just said that? Why does this man make every ounce of intelligence bleed out of you?

Geralt looks faintly smug at your shock; a cat-like smile paints itself on his lips, but only for a moment.

“Yeah,” he finally replies, eyes fixed on you. “Shirtless. You asking me to put a shirt on?”

“A shirt?” you say faintly. “No - I mean… I…”

He smiles again. It’s quickly replaced by something with more intensity, something still laced with humor and curiosity, but.. different. There’s something suggestive, something warm about his gaze that makes you feel like the floor’s going to fall out from under you.

You shoot him a glare. “Be quiet and sit still,” you snap. “I need to bandage your arm.” Your cheeks scald from within, and you fiercely ignore his eyes on you.

Geralt lets out an amused hum from deep in his chest but doesn’t protest further.

You grab some bandages from your pack and return to him, then carefully dab on the celandine salve he’d insisted you take with you this morning. You still despise doing any healing, but this is small enough that it doesn’t do more than lightly tug at your heartstrings.

“There,” you proclaim when it’s done. “I’m sorry. Again.”

He takes two fingers and places them under your chin, tilting it up so you’re looking him in the eyes. Or at least, you would be - were you not stubbornly keeping your gaze down toward the bed.

“Told you, you’ve got to stop saying that,” he says, voice low. His tone is soothing but it only makes you restless, drives you insane.

You finally look at him and narrow your eyes, heart pounding like mad, and you know he can hear it. “You’re too patient with me.”

His lips quirk into a small smile. “Think so?”

“Yes.”

“You’re wrong. Too harsh on yourself.”

He’s so close to you now that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him, the warmth that his hands share: rough, callused hands that so gently cradle your chin. He still smells of grass and oud and the sweet earthiness of the outdoors, and his lips look so very soft and inviting and… gods, you’ve wanted him since you first saw him. You can’t pretend anything else anymore.

Geralt must notice the way you’re looking at him, because something in his gaze shifts - sharpens. His eyes go even warmer than before, and his lips part, and are… are you imagining that he’s leaning toward you? On pure instinct, you tilt your chin up a little further and -

Suddenly wide-eyed, Geralt tenses and looks at the door, clearly hearing something you can’t. Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash from downstairs.

“Shit,” Geralt remarks under his breath and, to your dismay, he quickly drops his hand from your chin. Then he gets up to pull on a shirt - which is also much to your dismay.

“If that’s who I think it is…” he says, not bothering to finish the phrase.

Yennefer, you think glumly. Without another word, you follow him down the stairs. Clearly, there’s some kind of argument happening; voices are flowing up from the first floor.

“Look, I’m sorry about the fuckin’ glass, alright?” comes a voice that is most certainly not Yennefer. “I’ll pay for it, blah blah blah. Whatever you want.”

“Lambert?” Geralt calls, moving partway down the stairs. “Huh. Can’t go anywhere without getting into an argument.”

His words are teasing, and the fondness in them doesn’t pass you by. Another friend? But Lambert turns, and you’re immediately stricken - because he’s clearly another witcher.

Two swords, thick armor, and, as your wish forces you to follow Geralt further down the stairs, you see the tell-tale glowing yellow of the stranger’s eyes. Just like Geralt’s, only not as warm.

Something in this Lambert’s gaze makes you wary, and you find yourself shadowing Geralt, hiding yourself behind his frame as much as you can. Luckily, you seem to escape unnoticed, because Lambert just crosses his arms over his chest and grins at the sight of Geralt.

“Look who it is,” he drawls. “Wondered if I’d see you here, pretty boy.”

“What brings you here?” Geralt asks, lightly clapping him on the shoulder. “Keira with you?”

“No,” Lambert answers tightly. Something pulls at his face before it vanishes, melting into a scowl as he looks around. “Eskel is, though,” he adds. “He’ll be here soon.”

Geralt’s brows raise. “Eskel’s here, too?”

“Ran into each other on a contract,” Lambert says. “Sort of like me and you with that ekimmara, only this time it was a noonwraith and - well, long story. He’s hitching up his horse. I needed a fuckin’ drink.”

“Geralt, he just broke my best glass!” Dandelion fusses, in the midst of sweeping up the mess a few feet away. You hadn’t noticed him there with Geralt in front of your view.

“And I told you I’d pay for it,” Lambert replies. “Fuck’s sake.”

Dandelion’s eyes narrow. “How many times must I repeat that it was priceless? If you hadn’t waltzed in and served yourself at an ungodly hour, this all could have been avoided. That glass was my prize from last year’s poetry tourney - I can’t simply go and replace it!”

“Boo fuckin’ hoo,” Lambert mutters under his breath.

Dandelion’s eyes narrow and he opens his mouth, but anything he’s about to say is swiftly interrupted.

“Geralt, is that you?” chimes another voice. This one is lighter, and with an accent you don’t quite recognize. “Welcome back!”

The source of the sound is a blonde trobairitz with sparkling blue eyes. She gives Geralt a warm smile and pulls him into a brief hug.

How many friends does Geralt have? How many of them are here?

You don’t like to be envious, but seeing him surrounded by people who clearly know and care for him - and knowing that there must be many, many more out there - it makes your chest ache with a fierce longing. You’ve never had this many friends, not in your whole life.

“Priscilla!” Dandelion exclaims, immediately abandoning his sweeping and leaping to his feet. He gently grips her shoulder, and his gaze clings to her every feature as he beams at her. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you! But… what happened? You weren’t due to be back for another week!”

“The competition was canceled, love,” Priscilla says, giving a small frown. “No one would tell me why, but - if the rumors are to be believed - someone gambled away the prize money. All of us were sent away before it started.”

Outrage crosses Dandelion’s features. “They had you go all that way only to send you back? And over some gambling fiasco, at that? That’s… that’s entirely unacceptable!”

“And I’m sure you’ll be writing a very strongly-worded letter of protest,” Priscilla replies brightly. You find yourself immediately endeared to her.

“Of course I will, my dear!” Dandelion says, hopping over the seemingly forgotten pile of glass on the floor. “This world has no respect for artists, I tell you!”

He scurries away, presumably to grab some paper. Priscilla just shakes her head with a fond smile and takes a seat at the bar.

“So,” she says calmly, framing her hands on the sides of her chair. “Tell me, what have I missed?”

Geralt, in his usual laconic manner, begins to brief Priscilla on what he knows about Dandelion and Yennefer - omitting you and the djinn, of course . You still haven’t been noticed, and the discomfort of the situation is growing more and more. You and Geralt can only delay telling them for so long.

As your mind starts to drift, you take notice of the fact that Lambert has skulked away to the other side of the bar and poured himself a drink. He nurses his Redanian lager with a distant gaze, and you can’t help but think that he looks the way you feel: awkward, out of place, and incredibly lonely.

He must sense your gaze on him, because he looks up at you and narrows his eyes. You immediately look away.

“…got in some kind of fight with Yen,” Geralt is saying. “Haven’t seen her, though.”

“And why are you here?” Priscilla asks. “I imagine you’ve not come just to visit me and Dandelion?”

Guilt pulls at Geralt’s expression. “Yeah. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “Long story.”

Priscilla raises her brows and perks up - just the way Dandelion had last night - and you want to laugh at the clear similarities between the two. You wonder if Dandelion will remember to ask you about the ‘gritty details,’ as he’d put it.

“Not you, too,” Geralt sighs.

Priscilla lets out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I won’t write about anything you don’t want me to. Unless, of course, it’s terribly exciting.”

It isn’t, you think. Not the way that the other ballads about Geralt are exciting.

Before Geralt can answer, the door opens, and all of you turn. Another witcher, you realize in excitement. This must be Eskel.

He’s tall, broad, and stocky, with scars that run down the right side of his face and a leathery red jacket rolled up to his elbows. Two swords. Yellow eyes. He grins when he sees Geralt, and the expression melts any initial intimidation he might have given off.

“Hey, Wolf,” he greets, coming closer and shaking Geralt’s hand. His voice is warm, deep, and assuasive. “Good to see you.”

“You too, Eskel,” Geralt replies. “Nasty wound you’ve got there. That from the noonwraith?”

You hadn’t noticed it at first, but there’s a deep cut in Eskel’s neck, trickling partially-dried blood down onto his shirt.

“Yeah,” Eskel says, leaning against a table. “It’ll heal. Got some Swallow with me. What brings you here?”

“Long story,” Geralt replies. “Listen - I know it’s unlikely, but… either of you happen to hear anything about a djinn lately?”

Lambert snorts. “What the hell is the deal with you and djinns?” he asks. “Oh, wait! Let me guess: you finally got tired of being Yennefer’s lapdog, and now you want to beg another djinn to please take back your wish.”

“Cut it out, Lambert, ” Eskel says. “Besides - they already undid that wish.”

Your chest wrenches. Geralt and Yennefer undid the djinn’s wish?

“Mhm,” Geralt says tightly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Remember telling you that pretty explicitly, in fact. You drunk already?”

Lambert rolls his eyes. “I forgot, alright? Forgive me if I don’t remember every intimate little detail of your life. Shit, don’t tell me you’re here to redo it?”

“Got nothing to do with Yen,” Geralt insists. “Just need a djinn.”

“A djinn?” Dandelion has returned, paper in hand, and both he and Priscilla are gazing at Geralt with newfound interest - as if they’re already drafting up titles for a ballad in their minds. The bard grins widely and takes a seat on a nearby chair. “What’s this about a djinn?”

Geralt sighs, and you immediately feel awful for him. You know that it’ll be embarrassing for him to tell them the truth, and, well, he shouldn’t have to. You’re the one who made that idiotic wish - it’s only fair that you're the one who has to tell them.

Without thinking, you step out from behind Geralt and, despite trembling, speak as clearly as you can. “I’ll explain. It’s my fault, anyway.”

Poorly chosen words, because Geralt gives you a chiding look, and you can hear his voice in your mind: Gotta stop blaming yourself.

Too late. At the sound of your voice, everyone’s gaze immediately shifts to you, and all the blood quickly drains from your face.

“There you are!” Dandelion exclaims. “I wondered when you’d be joining us!”

“Been here the whole fuckin’ time,” Lambert points out, pouring himself another drink. “Hiding behind Geralt.”

You ignore them both, swallowing hard and taking collected, even breaths as you try to ground yourself.

“Geralt is asking about a djinn for… well - because of me,” you continue. Gods, this isn’t coming out right, but you have no choice but to go on. “Not long ago, I came across a djinn, and for my third wish, I asked for protection to be with me always. It… sent him.”

You pause for a moment, taking in the various combinations of expressions on people’s faces, which generally seems to be a mix of shock and delight - aside from Eskel, who simply looks shocked.

In their stunned silence, you hesitantly continue on. “It took the always part literally, so… now we can’t be more than a few steps apart, and we need another djinn to undo it.”

There are about ten seconds of sheer, ear-ringing silence before Lambert slams his mug down on the bar. “You’re shitting me,” he says.

The room explodes.

Dandelion starts firing off questions like his life depends on it, trailing off mid-sentence to jot down ideas. Eskel shakes his head with a grin and takes a seat, pouring himself a drink. Lambert snorts out a joke about ‘Geralt, always having shit like this happen.’

Priscilla lets out a shocked laugh before clapping her hand over her mouth - then reaches over to borrow some paper from Dandelion. Geralt, meanwhile, crosses his arms and sighs loudly, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I’m so sorry, Geralt.”

His expression softens as he drops his hand and looks at you. “Hey. Not your fault. Gonna drill that into you sooner or later.”

You give him a weak smile, still shaking.

“Geralt, Geralt,” Dandelion croons, waltzing up to the two of you. “I’ve been searching for an idea for my next ballad for months now, and the day after you show up-”

“You’re not gonna write about this, Dandelion,” Geralt says. “Promise me.”

“You must be joking!” Dandelion exclaims. “This will be my best ballad yet! Two unsuspecting citizens, bound by fate-”

“Fate?” you exclaim. “What does fate have to do with it?”

Dandelion raises a brow. “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m assuming you didn’t specify Geralt for your wish?”

“No,” you say firmly. “I didn’t picture anyone at all. If anything, I just thought I’d have some kind of invisible protection.”

“Then that settles it!” he replies brightly. “The djinn decided - out of every being, every number of things in this vast universe that could apply to your wish - he would send none other than Geralt of Rivia as your protection. Not only that, but he entwined the two of you closely together, unable to be apart. What is that, if not fate?”

“A djinn having a bit of fun,” you reply bitterly. “You can’t think I was destined to find that djinn?”

“Of course!”

You don’t respond. You can’t, because your throat locks up.

If you were destined to find that djinn, then all of the horrible things that have happened to you over the course of your life were destined as well. It’s an awful thought.

Were your parents doomed to die a terrible death from the moment they first took a breath? It’s ridiculous to think so. Your parents were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught in the crossfire of a newly emerging disease.

But the more you think about it, the more doubt slowly starts to trickle into your mind.

Your parents were born poor and died poor, and no amount of work they did ever could have changed that. As is common for the poor, they were financially trapped, stuck in the place they were born - a place that would soon become riddled with disease.

If their circumstances guaranteed that they were in that godforsaken town when the plague hit, then… is that destiny? Was fate setting up a long string of events, using the price of their blood to drag you back to Velen? Velen, where you’d built a shitty little life for yourself that got ripped apart again and again? Velen, where you’d finally come across that djinn?

Was it fate that put the words of that wish in your mouth, or was it your own stupidity?

“You see?” Dandelion says, seeing the expression on your face. “It’s fate, through and through. And, it will be making an excellent ballad. Tell me-”

“Dandelion,” Geralt interjects. “No ballads. Not happening.”

Dandelion sets his paper down with a scowl, crossing his arms. “Geralt, you are a cruel, obdurate man. You’re denying me the best ballad I’ll ever write.”

“That hurts, Dandelion,” comes Geralt’s response. “No more ballads? Don’t know how I’ll survive.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Dandelion sighs, fixing his gaze on you. “Please, try to talk some sense into him. He’ll have to see the light sooner or later.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Sorry, but something tells me that if anyone was going to change his mind, it’d be you.”

Dandelion grips your shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he says, a bit slyly. “I see the way he looks at you.”

Your heart skips a beat. Surely Geralt must have heard that? When you turn to look at him for confirmation, he meets your eyes head-on, but… the look on his face is something new. Discomfort, you realize.

Your stomach faintly sinks, but Geralt simply clears his throat and speaks.

“Now that that’s dealt with,” he says, “Any of you happen to know where I might find a djinn?”

There’s a long beat. Then Priscilla speaks.

“I can’t say whether it’s true for certain,” she starts, “but during my recent travels, I heard many talk of a djinn in the Blue Mountains, left by a mage who wished to tame it. He was killed before he could manage it.”

The Blue Mountains. A journey like that would take… you don’t even know how long. Weeks, at the very least.

“Know anything else?” Geralt asks. “Got any specific locations, the name of the mage?”

“They said it was held in a cave near the borders of Kaedwen and Aedirn,” she answers. “But I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

Geralt’s brows pinch. “That border goes on for miles. Lots of caves near there. Long way to travel for a rumor, too.”

“It is. And I’m sorry I can’t tell you more,” she replies. “Unfortunately, most of this information came from a plastered troubadour on the street who was using it to compose a ballad. Though, there were others who all said the same thing, and the details were consistent enough that it just might be true. Not that anyone seemed in much of a rush to go get the djinn, mind you.”

Geralt’s shoulders slump a little, and you ache with sympathy for him. None of what she’d just said is exactly reassuring.

“Gotta see if I can find out anything else about that,” he says. “Appreciate you telling me.”

She nods and gives a weak smile, and Geralt’s gaze briefly skims over the rest of the crowd.

Eskel shakes his head. “Sorry, Wolf,” he says. “Haven’t heard anything.”

Geralt shrugs. “Knew it wasn’t likely. Got something to go on, at least.”

“Yeah, good luck,” Lambert snorts, working on his second lager. “Wouldn’t want to be you.”

“Fuck off, Lambert,” Geralt replies, sighing deeply. “C’mon, better see if there are any books about that djinn,” he tells you.

You follow him without a word.

“Nice to, er, meet you!” Priscilla calls.

You give her a smile and wave before you leave, but your stomach coils with fear. What if you two don’t find another djinn? What if you’re stuck like this forever? How long will it take for Geralt to lose his seemingly endless patience with you?

“Don’t mind Lambert,” Geralt says, interrupting your thoughts. “He can be a prick. Nothing personal.”

“It’s fine.” You don’t particularly feel like talking at the moment.

His pace slows into a halt. “Don’t have to say that if you don’t mean it,” he tells you.

“I know. It’s really fine, Geralt. I wasn’t thinking about him.”

He gives a nod and starts walking again, and you follow alongside him. “Gonna tell me what you were thinking about?” he asks.

You consider it for a long, vulnerable moment. “Alright, Witcher. But only if you tell me what you were thinking just now, too.”

His brows rise. “Huh. Guess that’s fair.” He rolls his shoulders, hesitating before he answers. “Was wondering about Yen - where she is. That curse she mentioned.”

“You’re worried about her,” you say.

“Yeah,” he admits. “Pretty powerful on her own. Can’t think of why she’d need my help. Doesn’t sound good.”

“Maybe she just wanted an outside perspective,” you offer. “Another pair of eyes to catch something she hadn’t seen.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, though he doesn’t sound fully convinced. “Your turn.”

You let out a puff of air, digging your nails into the skin. “I was worrying about the djinn,”you confess. “About what would happen if we don’t find another one.”

He doesn’t seem at all phased by this. “Wouldn’t worry about that just yet,” he says. “Haven’t even started looking, really.”

“How many djinns have you come across?”

“Two,” he answers. “Think you already know about the first. Helped Yen find the other one.”

“Was it hard to find?”

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t say it was easy, exactly. Yen had me searching shipwrecks at the bottom of the ocean for clues. Turned out, the owner died before the djinn fulfilled his three wishes. Ended up having to fight it, make a deal. Wasn’t impossible, though.”

You resist the urge to point out that Yennefer is an extremely powerful sorceress and you aren’t, and instead ask the question you’ve really been wanting to know the answer to. “And you used that djinn to undo the first djinn’s wish?”

He huffs. “Thought you might have caught that. Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck, and his expression sombers. “Yen… she was never sure if what we were feeling was real. Could never trust it. Wanted to know for sure.”

A lost emotion pulls at your chest; grief, perhaps.

“It wasn’t real, then?”

There’s a long pause before he answers.

“It was.”

You understand instantly.

Your heart squeezes painfully at the memory of Hanna, an old friend. No longer, but that’s not what’s important. She’d been in love with the farmer’s boy, and you’d bet Antoni down the road that they’d marry before spring.

You’d lost that bet.

They’d quarreled most days. Rarely was there a day of stillness between them. Still, the look in their eyes had been love, real love - and you’d known that look anywhere, and you’d thought…

“Explain it to me,” you’d asked her one night. “Don’t you love him?”

“Of course!” she’d said, wringing her hands. “But love doesn’t make it right.”

“No? Then what does?”

She’d gone all starry-eyed then, suddenly looking as if she was a thousand years away. “I think… I think it’s peace,” she’d finally answered. “I couldn’t come home to him like that, spend hours arguing, because all it did was drive me insane. I wanted us to be happy, but we weren’t. And love doesn’t change that.”

And just like that, you understood.

There’s no mention of Priscilla’s djinn in any of the Novigrad bookshops - or anywhere else, as a matter of fact.

Geralt spends hours trekking through places, perusing titles and chasing down leads. Each time he sets a book down or a trail goes cold, his expression is nothing short of grim.

You browse through a book or two, but nothing pulls at your interest enough to keep you from your thoughts, which return again and again to that dream - and what happened after. You’re restless in this city, hoping for and dreading an end to all this searching.

Eventually, when the sun has gone low in the sky, Geralt gives up and takes you back to The Chameleon, where Eskel and Lambert have headed off on another contract, but Dandelion, Priscilla, and Zoltan are chatting at a table.

“There you two are!” Dandelion exclaims. “Come now, have a seat! We were just discussing the new Gwent faction.”

“Never understood it, myself,” Zoltan remarks, leaning back in his seat. “The faction’s shite.”

Geralt pulls a chair out for you, and you take a seat - cheeks going hot.

“Gonna grab us some dinner,” he says. “Want anything specific?”

You shake your head. “Anything’s fine.”

He gives a nod and walks away, and you hear him ordering - just close enough to be in bounds of the wish.

You shift in your seat, suddenly very uncomfortable at the attention directed on you.

“Do you play Gwent?” Priscilla asks.

“A little,” you reply.

Dandelion grins. “That’s what they all say, isn’t it?”

Priscilla shoots him a stern look. “Ignore him. What do you think about the Skellige deck?”

You shrug. “I wouldn’t know,” you admit. “I’ve never played with it or against it.”

“Geralt has a deck,” Dandelion exclaims. “Surely he can pull it out, play a few rounds with you.”

Your heart drops. “Oh, I don’t-”

“Don’t worry,” Priscilla says. “It’s a difficult deck to play against - no one will blame you for losing a round.”

“I don’t have a deck anymore,” you explain. “I can’t play.”

Dandelion leans forward, eyes gleaming. “That wouldn’t have to do with the djinn, would it?”

“Ah, shut your trap, bard,” Zoltan says.

“I’m only asking!” Dandelion retorts. “Anyway, I’m sure you could borrow the Skellige deck, and play against one of us! I doubt Geralt would mind.”

“Would mind what?” Geralt asks behind you, having returned with your dinner. He sets the two plates on the table and takes a seat next to you.

With the lacking space between the seating, his thigh presses against yours, and you quickly stuff a bite of food into your mouth - an attempt to distract yourself from the heat radiating off of him. Heat that’s slowly transferring to you.

“Oh good, you’re back!” Dandelion says. “You wouldn’t mind lending your companion here your Skellige deck, would you? Just for a few rounds, of course.”

“Sure. Wouldn’t mind.” Geralt starts on his food, brows pinching as he observes you. “Who’re you playing against?”

“No one,” you say quickly. “I’m alright, really, I don’t need to play-”

“Why?” Dandelion interjects, giving you a sly smile. “Afraid you’ll lose?”

Unfortunately, if there’s one thing you happen to be competitive about, it’s Gwent.

“Not by skill, no,” you reply, narrowing your eyes. “But I have no idea if the deck is any good.”

“Aye, but a shitty deck doesnae matter when the whole faction is shite,” Zoltan says.

“Hey,” Geralt says, sounding a little wounded. “Happened to win the Toussaint Gwent championship with that deck.”

You let out a deep sigh from your nose and shake your head, setting down your fork. “Fine. I’ll play.”

Dandelion beams and pulls out his deck, and Zoltan snorts in amusement, crossing his arms.

“Hang on. Gotta go get the deck first,” Geralt says. “Might as well finish your food.”

You never get the chance.

Just as he’s spoken, Geralt goes wide-eyed and stares at the door, the way a cat does when it’s heard something you haven’t. The way he had earlier, when Lambert breaking the glass had interrupted the kiss.

A cold wind blows through the room. It chills you deep and down to the very bone, as if ice is seeping through your veins and freezing every inch of you from the inside out. A sharp, deep floral scent accompanies it, fuzzing your mind over with intoxication.

The door bursts open and silence washes over the room as two women enter rather gracefully - one with ashen hair and a scar on her left cheek, and the other, well… you know who the other is. You’ve read Dandelion’s ballads.

Raven hair and violet eyes - this can be none other than Yennefer of Vengerberg.

tags: @henryownsme @madamemelancholysstuff @fullmoonshadowwrites @darkscrossfire @beforethepen @julijal @ailynyan @ivuravix

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #game!geralt #geralt x you #geralt/reader #geralt of rivia x you #mywriting

114 notes · View notes